Tooth-hurtie

Mrs. Squatty has some long-time-comin' dental work scheduled for herself in a few weeks. she is not looking forward to it. besides having to take a part-time job as a canadian drug mule to pay for it, the dentist will be busting more than one cap in her face.

i can actually sympathize with her a great deal, having had more dentists in me than a Vegas convention hall. i take much better care of my teeth now, but that was a lifestyle change made after many expensive lessons.

one thing that fostered my poor habits with dental hygiene was my lack of dental incident when i was in high school. i didn't have a single cavity until my last visit with my family dentist (who much of my family referred to as "Dr Dry Hands" (though i think it would have been even more troubling if his hands were atypically moist)). i had two cavities on that last visit. both lower molars; both without Novocain.

it was somewhat uncomfortable, but surprisingly pain-free.

the next time i went to the dentist i was 23. i kind of skipped the dentist in college (and then some). at the same time, i became somewhat digestively-intolerant to the gallon-a-day milk habit i was fostering. this all led to three cavities: one was a regular cavity; one required a root canal; and the third wasn't “worth saving," according to my dentist in DC.

so, i had to go see an oral surgeon to get the third one removed.

understanding now what implements and skills are at the disposal of an oral surgeon, i am surprised they attain such lofty and mongrelly-latinate titles as "Maxillofacial Pathologist" and "Endodontist." after having been through a tooth extraction, terms like "witch doctor" come to mind. if he had pulled leeches out of one of the cabinets, i would not have been surprised.

so, the unsavable tooth was going to meet its maker. i sat down in the pleather pastel chair at the appointed time and bantered a few pleasantries with the dentist. he was portly, affable, and had meaty hands. he wore glasses that someone had obviously picked out for him after he lost a bet, and styled his hair such that all he needed to take 3rd place in the Richard Simmons look-alike contest were some inappropriate shorts.

Dr. Simmons told me that he would let me draw a bit from the nitrous tank before we began. so, after the mask went over my face, he said to take a few deep breaths; i would start to feel "very relaxed" after a couple of minutes.

a few moments went by, and i felt the same. i told him so. he raised one of the caterpillars that was posing as an eyebrow and said we could give it a few more minutes.

i still felt the same.

"you know," i told him, "i enjoy the occasional glass of whiskey now and again. do you think it's given me a tolerance to the nitrous?"

he considered it as if we were colleagues, but ultimately pronounced it "unlikely." he then instructed the nurse to open the valve a bit more.

a few more minutes went by and he assumed that he would have to drag me off the ceiling. but nothing doing; i was stone cold sober. he began the procedure unabashed.

long ago, when i thought of a person who specialized in "oral surgery," i thought of someone who would delicately separate the tooth from my gums. a smartly dressed dental assistant by his side, crisply handing him a scalpel, a suction tube, some kind of cauterizing agent, and the like.

no dice. my dreamy notions of modern dentistry were dashed as he approached the side of the chair with his implement. as he neared, i considered the tool in his hand and readily assumed, "oh, he must be going to work on his car."

"oh wait... that wrench is for my face."

tooth extraction, in case you don't know, is a process that was conceived by a group of drunken coal miners. basically, you reach in, grab the tooth, and pull it out. it's extremely efficient, like the Nazis.

but sometimes the dentist doesn't get quite enough purchase or leverage from the side of the chair. sometimes, while the dentist is gripping your tooth with his face wrench, he needs to toss his leg over you and straddle you like it is some dental rodeo.

he grimaces a little. he grabs the wrench with both hands. he turns his wrists left and right. from my angle, it looks like i am on the business end of his golf swing. he is lining up the driver; finding the sweet spot. after a proper swing there is always that satisfying crack of hitting the ball on just the right dimple.

"oh wait... that crack was my tooth."

yes, the tooth is crushed in order to extract it. he straddled my lap, put a wrench inside my mouth, crushed a tooth, and yanked out the pieces. then, MetLife and i paid him $600.

since then, i have only had half a dozen other cavities, and three gold caps (each requiring a root canal, and each initialed by my dentist (no lie)).

luckily, i never got wisdom teeth.