Ok, so here's the thing: I have perfect teeth. Now the only people who have ever bestowed that compliment upon me were dentists and x-ray techs. I have perfect teeth, not a beautiful smile. Not by any stretch. Capish? You see, while they're perfect - structurally - and while I've never had a cavity, and while I have a perfect bite (oh, this is sounding a lot like bragging, but I promise, that isn't where it will end up...) - I have my share of problems. Maybe more than my share, but don't we all sort of think that, where problems are concerned?
The first is purely cosmetic. One of the two reasons I do not have a beautiful smile. I have never whitened them. They are the natural shade of teeth well into their fourth decade of existence. That shade is, I can assure you, not a blinding white. The reason I haven't jumped on the whitening bandwagon has to do with the other, much more major problem.
When I was seven and still had a mouthful of baby teeth I was playing Brownies and Fairies in a church basement with my Brownie troop (oh, like you never played Brownies and Fairies...) and I tripped over my own clumsy feet and slid face first into a stage. I knocked out my front tooth - one of my ONLY permanent teeth - in a perfect diagonal. There was a lot of blood. And a lot of screaming Brownies. I think the Fairies were pretty distressed, too.
Because I was so young the only solution they could offer was a series of temporary caps as I grew. I had my first root canal in second grade. The dentist expected me to completely lose all four of my front top teeth due to the impact. Forty years later, that one tooth remains the only one I've had problems with, but oh the problems I've had.
I had a second root canal sometime in Jr. High. I remember this clearly, because my mother sent me to school in the morning then picked me up a few hours later, signing me out for a dental appointment. I had the root canal with a local anesthetic. When it was all said and done, there were about 45 minutes left in the school day. Instead of taking me home, my mom took me back to school. I was still drooling a little bit when she dropped me off. For one lousy class. Sometime in the middle of class, the drool stopped and the pain started as the anesthetic effect wore off. I didn't learn anything in that class, I can assure you. Then I had to walk home. My mom still feels a little bit bad about that. I may or may not remind her of it from time to time.
Sometime in high school I had a permanent cap installed and that was pretty much that. I needed a new one every 10 years or so. Just couldn't whiten because the cap wouldn't whiten and would then stand out. Not too bad.
Until recently.
Now they tell me there's bone loss, and quite a good bit of it.
Now they tell me I need an implant.
Right there in the front.
And that while the implant itself heals, I'll be toothless for - oh - about six months - give or take - depending on how well the healing is progressing. But not to worry! Because I can use a flipper! Which I have also referred to as a flapper and a flopper. Which makes the dental people laugh, but it seems like a pretty easy mistake to make to me. It is a purely aesthetic device that will keep me from looking like a picture with the tooth blacked out. It will not be functional. Think about that. I cannot eat without having a big blank space right in the front of my mouth.
Oh. My. Hell.
Do you know how much of my social life revolves around eating? Did you read my last frakkin' post? This means I can't even eat dinner with my family. For half a year. I'll drink a lot of smoothies through straws and nibble on things huddled over in a corner when no one is around. Maybe I'll lose weight. That would be a nice side effect. Of course I'll gain it right back as soon as I go back to solid food. I know how that works. I've seen Oprah. So there's not even that.
Ok, so I have this diagnosis that is giving me nightmares. Then comes actually getting some of this accomplished. First I made an appointment with a clinic near my home. I was pretty comfortable there until they told me how much it was all going to cost. I mentioned my concern to my primary dentist and she said, "well, there IS another option..."
Long story short, she sent me to an implant clinic at the local university. I am freaking out at this point. Dental school? Really? But it was a difference of around $2,000. But STUDENTS??? Freaking out is really an understatement. I won't get a manicure at a cosmetology school. There were a couple of days there when I couldn't stop crying. Ask Tom, he'll tell you. He kept saying, "Go back to the place where you're comfortable! It's only money!" Only money. Yeah. Money, in case you didn't know, is not something we swim around in, here. A couple thousand is significant to us.
So I go to the school for a consultation.
It's a big medical center and a big school. There was construction and I was detoured. Shit. Google maps hadn't said anything about that. Parking? She was a bitch. I got lost several times once inside the building because I couldn't find the clinic I was looking for. When I finally did, I felt my heart fall into my stomach. This was a school all right. There was no privacy. There were just chairs in a big open room. That's where all of this humiliation would begin. In a wide open space full of teachers and students. With me as a visual aid.
Now at this point I reminded myself that as part of my living will I agreed to donate my body to science. And I read
Stiff. I know how cadavers are treated. But I figure privacy won't be as much of an issue when I'm a CORPSE!
So, despite my reservations, I take a seat and I sign the papers. The papers that say:
- a student will do all of the work, which will then be approved by a certified oral surgeon.
- there is no guarantee that your results will meet your expectations.
They said other stuff, too, but those two got the tears flowing. Right there in the waiting room.
I had my consultation. They didn't want to give me IV sedation. I stood firm. They shrugged and said they'd try, but if I'm a hard stick, they'll just do it with a local. I'm a hard stick. Fuck.
Then the scheduling - oh my stars, the nightmare that was scheduling. They were to call me. I waited three weeks. (I wasn't in a real huge hurry) I finally called them. They informed me that they never call patients and that I had been misinformed. Really feeling like I'm in good hands, now. So they say they'll 'see if the doctor still has my charts' and call me back. Four days later, no call. I called them again. Answering service. Message. No callback. I called the next day. Got a person. They put me on hold. I got disconnected. Called back. Straight to voicemail. Where I left a detailed message, as instructed. Next day? No call. Called back, spoke to a real live person, got it scheduled. "Bring an iPod or something, because if they can't do the IV sedation, you can listen to music to drown out the sounds..."
I think it would take a lot more than an iPod to drown out the sounds (of my screams)...
I've assumed the position in the corner, now, knees to chest, manically rocking, thumb in (still fully toothed) mouth.
When are they gonna do this? September 10.
When is my hysterectomy? September 11. (Yep. 9/11. What could go wrong?)
I won't be able to eat brownies.
I could sure use a little fairy dust.
Happy lucky joy time in the casa de Mommakin.
There's no hope for me. Send help for Tom.
I don't talk about Molly much, because her life isn't all that interesting. These past couple weeks, however, I've noticed that our lives have become strikingly similar. For example:
