One time I didn’t go to the dentist for
over ten years. I had been consistently lacking in adequate funds for medical
care, and was in fact uninsured. "Old Uninsurable" they'd call me.
Well, I called it being alive! I used to, at least. What am I talking about
here? Right, boobs! Anyway, they're great; in your hands, in your mouth,
against your chest or back...
No, it was TEETH! Okay, so I was having some pain in my top right back tooth (pardon
the medical jargon). It was off & on, so I mostly ignored it. Then I
started tonguing it (as I do), and I noticed that it felt somewhat chipped. I
didn't remember chipping my tooth, but I also didn't remember that hooker
putting a condom on me, so there you go.
Within
a week, it was the most excruciating pain I had ever experienced (the tooth,
not my whore-handled penis). Every bite, every breath, every careless whisper
sent waves of agony throughout my upper jaw. I caved, and found a nearby
generic dentistry that was willing to see me that day (at two-thirty, no less, a
joke the receptionist completely missed). For less than $50, I discovered that
a piece of a filling had chipped off the tooth, gone into a cavity, and was
resting against the nerve. Hence the pain.
I was sent away with the knowledge that a root canal followed by a crown was
the recommended course of action, and that half of said procedure, without
insurance, would cost me roughly around the area of $1200-ish. While there
might have been a way for that to be manageable, it was just more than I wanted
to deal with at a somewhat tumultuous time, financially & otherwise. I
looked into the local school for dentistry & gifted youngsters, but found out
that you have to be put on a waiting list to possibly be seen for a
procedure, & even then there were no guarantees for treatment. A simple
extraction would mean going to wait in line at 4 AM to hopefully be one of the
lucky eighteen or so that could have jagged bone yanked out of their skull by a
young, beautiful & hungover Pakistani that day...
You know, that seems harsh, but I'm going to leave it.
So I blew it off. Thanks to Strip Mall Dentistry & Obamacare, I picked up
some antibiotics & hydrocodone at Wal-Mart for $9.50. After 2-3 days the
pain went away, causing me to believe that it was largely due to an infection.
The next few weeks went by smoothly, with muscles relaxed and drinks aplenty
(as I do). Then things got interesting.
I found myself in a mood one Monday morning. Maybe I was still unsettled by how
awesome the Coldplay concert had been that weekend (seriously, it made my
butthole smile). It's possible that a momentary lapse of AM loneliness
triggered my previously dormant masochistic side. Perhaps I became so desperate
for change that I was literally prepared to pull teeth. Anyway, before lunch I
popped a pain pill, grabbed my Leatherman, tipped my flask of whiskey and got
going.
Okay, you may be cringing at this point (or not. You may not give a shit. You
may not even be reading this, in which case to whom am I addressing this
sentence?) Hey, I don't really know what's going on in here most of the time. I
think I just wanted something visceral, and pulling my own rotten tooth out was
an available option. Not only that, it was something that literally needed
to be done. So...
I gave the depressants a little time to work their dark magic, and then started
to tinker. At first I just tried to wiggle the tooth by hand, then went for an
intensely deep flossing. Neither of these proved fruitful, and the Law &
Order SVU episode I had put on was almost over, so I shrugged and took the tool
deep into my mouth (as I do). I tried tapping the tooth, just to warm myself up
or something, I don't know. Then I decided it was go-time. If I didn't attempt
something like this now, then I'd have to wait until I was stranded on an
island with an ice skate (which WILL happen). So I gripped the tooth between
the needle-nosed ends of the Leatherman, clenched the handle with a firm grasp,
and began to shimmy.
Now,
I should point out that up until this point in the day, I was in absolutely no
pain. I felt a slight pressure here and there, but I was for the most part
comfortable. Then something happened. It was new, this feeling, this sensation.
I'm not sure if there was a smell or a taste or a throb of pain, because all I
could focus on in the moment was the sound. You remember the old Tootsie Pop
commercial where the owl bites into the treat? It kind of sounded like that,
except with more of a bone-crunching intensity.
A few small pieces of broken tooth fell from my oral cavity and I started to
see spots. My vision got blurry as a non-existent breeze swept it's punishment
into my exposed dental damnation. I had cracked my tooth to the filling, and it
really, really hurt. It sounds more intense as I write it now, but it
immediately took me to my knees. Desperate, I crawled to my phone and called
mom for help.
My mom had actually dated the dentist who put the fillings in so long ago, and
was still on good terms with him (completely innocent terms, I might add), so I
had her put in a call. Sure enough, he had an opening that day. I overdid the
mouthwash to get rid of the whiskey stench and went straight over, bypassing
small talk and suggestion of root canal for the immediacy of "Get this
fucking abortion dentata out of my face!"
He
really was pleasant and understanding, and backed by a staff that was nothing
but supportive of my hurry to alleviate this travesty of home surgery. During
what became a dizzying dose of gas, I noticed the speakers playing classical
music. Grieg segued to Vivaldi (I suggested Wagner for such a cruel setting) as
this man who had once dated my mother entered my mouth (as he does). An
overture built as his hands shook above my face, engaging in an epic battle of
man vs. man-mouth, and as we all crescendoed I fell asleep for roughly 3
minutes (as I do). I awoke and eyed the room, breathing comfortably as the
hygienist came back in.
"We've just got you on oxygen now. Let me know when you feel normal and
I'll sit you up. That tooth was pretty decayed, so I don't think a root canal
would have even worked."
She rattled off some instructions for the next 48 hours and asked if I would
like to keep the tooth. Of course I want it. I have it now, right beside me.
It's disgusting, and I can't stop fondling it.
It
didn't take long before I was feeling oddly sober, so I went to the front desk
to begrudgingly discuss the payment plan options. The receptionist was on the
phone and gave me a wave before returning to filing. I looked around, confused,
but the dentist was nowhere to be seen. He'd vanished, Keyser Soze D.D.S., and
apparently would not be charging me for this now uncertain favor.
So I bled from the mouth for the rest of the day, but it all worked out. The
only question left was how do I keep my mind from wondering into the realm of
why this dental work was supposedly free? We may never know, because none of us
are ever going to speak of it again.
Seriously.
Floss, but otherwise keep your filthy mouth shut about my saint of a mother.
