Another bit of tooth abandons its filling

Forty-three years ago, when I was sixteen, I went to the dentist for the first time in my memory. (I say it that way because it's possible I went as a young child, during a time when I have no memories.) All my wisdom teeth had come in--I still have them--but I had not yet learned how to brush that far back in my mouth without gagging myself. As a result, I left the dentist's office with five fillings: one in each wisdom tooth, and one in the lower left molar adjacent to the wisdom tooth.

For years, my dentist admired the craftsmanship of those fillings. He would tap each one, verify I had no pain from the contact, and then muse that someday, someday, he would get to replace them.

Alas (and this is no joke), that day did not come, for he died some time ago, a victim of cancer. He was a good man, and I miss him each time I go to his office.

His son now checks my teeth and did my crown some months back. He, too, has marveled at how long those fillings have lasted.

Tonight, I ate a bite of chicken and hit a bone. As I did, I felt a disgustingly familiar sensation, and when I checked to confirm my suspicion, I found that the interior side of that lower left molar had abandoned its filling and my mouth.

I probably should be grateful for the over four decades of service that tooth and filling have given me, but I'm not. I'm pissed. The tooth, like the rest of my body, should have toughed it out.

Instead, when I can grab some free time--not before next week--I will have to go to the dentist and get another crown.

This sucks.

The only up side, as Kyle noted, is that this bit of weakness has fled my body, and after the crown, I will be another bit more bionic and rather stronger in that small area. I have that to look forward to.

I do not, however, look forward to three more hours in the dentist's chair, nor am I thrilled about the rather massive bill I will incur in the process.

I cannot truly complain, because I am fortunate to have both dental insurance and enough money to pay that bill without hurting my lifestyle, but I still don't like it.

After writing all of this, though, I come to one conclusion: I am incredibly grateful to live where I do, have the assets I do, and have access to great dental care that I can afford. I am a very privileged person. Much of the world is in far worse shape, and I would do well to remember that always and to be thankful for all I have.

Lessons from a dentist visit

You'd think I'd learn.  I've been going to the same dentist for about thirty years, so I should have gotten good at it.  Apparently, though, I've managed to fail to learn a few key lessons, and so I required reminders at my appointment last week.

1) You do not have to brush your teeth as if you were fighting an enemy.

I attack my teeth when I brush.  I figure that, like the rest of me, they need to be tough to survive.  This is, as it turns out, not a good strategy and not healthy for one's gums.  Fortunately, my gums are strong--as are my teeth, which are about as tough as stones, so I have few fillings or other problems.  Nonetheless, I must learn to be gentler on my gums and teeth.  The dentist suggested I try holding the toothbrush with only three fingers.  My instant reaction was that my three-finger grip strength must get stronger. 

Maybe it's me. 

2) Having the world's worst gag reflex is not a good thing.

One piece of the cleaning powder hit my tongue during the whirly-brush tooth-brushing part of the process, and I did my best imitation of a ten-pound cat hacking up a twenty-found furball--but louder, and with bugging eyes and clenched fists. 

We clearly need to keep that crap off my tongue. 

3. Gripping the arms of the dental chair so hard that you rip off the covering is also not a good thing.

I don't like going to the dentist.  (Does anyone?)  I try to relax.  Despite those attempts, however, my lizard brain sees the encounter as a battle, and so it dumps some adrenalin and prepares me for combat.  I channel that energy into my hands.  The chair suffers.

I did my best to tuck it all back together so no one would notice.  With luck, they won't.

4. I will always miss rinsing on my own. 

When I was growing up, after a bit of working on your mouth, they'd let you sit up, sip water from a cup, swish it around in your mouth, and spit it into a sink.  You, the patient, were in control.  You could rinse as much as you wanted, and you got the bonus of seeing what was coming out of your mouth.  (Admit it:  you're curious, too.)

Now, they use the little water squirter to spray some water where they think you need it, and then they suck it back with the suction hose.  They're in total control.  Where's the fun in that?

In this case, the old ways were better.