I hate dentistry, I think it’s the biggest medical racket there is.
Let me explain to you how dentistry has always worked for me. As a hemophiliac, I need medication that helps with the whole “blood clotting” thing. That’s a pain in the ass in and of itself because I only use that medicine when I need it. I rarely need it so it sits in the fridge for years until it expires or my wife accidentally breaks it while cleaning the fridge. Once I get that little bit of frustration out of the way, I’m off to the dentist.
Here’s how the last few dental issues have gone, keeping in mind that this spans a time from my early twenties to now, my late thirties.
Say I have a small cavity. I go in, they drill and fill. Fine. Then, a few years later, the filling falls out. Now it needs a root canal and a crown. Okay. Then, a few years after that, the crown falls off with the rest of the fucking tooth because, unbeknownst to me, it deteriorated under the crown and broke off. I’d say this was an isolated event, except that it’s happened four times.
I have a molar in the back of my mouth, upper left side. It’s barely there. I can’t do anything about it but believe me, I’ve tried. It was the second of the four to be drilled, filled, rooted, crowned, and then lost because I dared to eat a Red Vine at the cinema. Yes, it was so deteriorated that a fresh Red Vine took it out of my mouth. Maybe I should have the rest of the tooth pulled. Oh, but I can’t because the root of it is so close to my sinus that pulling it could result in one hell of a blood fountain and, for a hemophiliac, that’s not a wonderful thing. So it sits back there, doing nothing. It doesn’t hurt and, thankfully, no one can see it. But I certainly know it’s there.
Farther forward, there’s another tooth — drilled, filled, rooted, crowned, and broken — just like the others. A small hunk of ice took it out. Just above it, I’m actually missing a tooth that was pulled for the same reason. It was so bad that, when the crown broke off, it brought most of the root with it.
Today, I’m leaving work and walking to my car in the parking garage. I’m chewing gum. I’ve chewed gun for years, but today I bite down on the gum and hit something hard. I pull it out and it’s a fucking implant. Folks, I’m not kidding; I didn’t even know I had an implant. I actually had to feel around my mouth to figure out where the hell this object came from. Once I found it, I discovered the remains of a tooth where it fell from. So yet again, I’ve got the remains of a tooth where a dentist has apparently drilled it out, performed a root canal, and installed an implant. (Or perhaps it was a crown and post, either way, I haven’t a clue when I had this done.)
I’m off to the dentist tomorrow for a consultation. My wife was kind enough to call the doctor for my clotting meds. Perhaps I can get that other broken tooth taken care of too. Which one? The one on the bottom, but I understand your confusion. I’m having a hard time keeping track of this stuff too. The thing is, I could understand this if I didn’t take care of my teeth. Yet every morning I brush and every evening I brush again. Flossing? Actually I’m really good about flossing because I have a nervous habit of blowing air between my teeth. If I can’t do it, then I floss. Since it’s a nervous habit, I do it regularly and because of that I floss regularly too.
I could be a god damn poster child for the ADA if not for all these broken teeth.