Last Friday while eating dinner, I had the disturbing sensation of a piece of my molar falling onto my tongue. Unfortunately, this coincided with my dentist's absence at a conference. I was referred to a colleague of my dentist, who we'll just call Dr. M for purposes of anonymity. I went to Dr. M under the pretense that the severity of the break would be assessed, and they may or may not need to do work. It sounded harmless enough, right?
It turned out that a nine-year-old crown from a root canal was to blame (another traumatic dental visit that culminated with an exclamation from the endodontist, and I quote, "You have the longest roots I've ever seen!"), and I was tricked---er convinced that a temporary crown was necessary to prevent any further breakage. After two sets of x-rays for one tooth, I waited patiently for Dr. M to arrive. He did, and I was lulled into a sense of security by his friendly conversation. He informed me that I had not one, but two broken teeth. How could I not know that I was a walking jack-o-lantern?! Once adequately numbed, the kind dental hygienist with the English accent sat down and said gently, "We'd like to use an Isolite on you." Say what? It turned out to be a small light attached to what appeared to be a miniature floor mat, which allowed them to actually see what they were doing. I would recommend buying stock in this product, as it simultaneously provided a light source while holding back that pesky tongue.
They asked me if I wanted to listen to some music while they worked, and provided me with an iPod Nano and headphones. To my surprise, when I pushed play, I was bombarded with hardcore gangsta rap, complete with b-words and n-words. After quickly skipping to the next song (thankfully Alicia Keys!), I closed my eyes and prepared for the procedure. A few moments later, I heard, "Where did it go?" I opened my eyes to find Dr. M and the English Hygienist frantically searching my mouth for some errant object. I wish this was an exaggeration! They never found said object, but figured it got sucked up in that thing that sucks up spit (sorry, I have no idea what it's called). After much grinding, drilling, pulling, and yanking, they finally got the old crown off. Dr. M excused himself and the English Hygienist got to work on the temporary crown.
All kidding aside, the staff in this office worked extremely hard to fit in a "visiting" client with a complex dental issue. That being said, I was subjected to a substance that makes cough medicine taste like cotton candy. I should have known when the English Hygienist said, "I'm sorry, but this might taste bad." Might?! I'm not really sure what it was, but when it danced onto the taste buds on the back of my tongue, the saliva faucet turned on. English Hygienist's solution? Shove a gauze into my mouth, resulting in me gagging (it takes a lot, believe me). Then, after she worked diligently to get the temporary crown just the right size and shape, she ---drumroll please--dropped it on the floor! I fully expected her to blow on it and put in my mouth. She didn't of course, but used some (disinfecting?) wipes to clean it off, and popped it in.
So 2-1/2 hours later, I made my way to the front desk to settle the insurance information, all the while drooling on the counter like a teething baby. So here I am, with a Novocain hangover, nursing an aching tooth. The bad news, I have to go back in a few weeks and in the meantime, I can't eat anything sticky or chewy (isn't that pretty much everything except soup?). The good news, I made some new friends at Dr. M's office and they fixed my broken tooth.
So the moral of this story is that no matter how far you think you have made it in life, you are one shot away from a drooling, gagging catastrophe; and if you're lucky, it will be at the hands of some very kind and capable dental professionals.
