In April I wrote about tooth issues, and since the issues have just recently been resolved (knock on wood) I thought I should catch everyone up. I last left off with my dentist erring on the conservative side on tooth number 15 better known as the painful, last tooth on the upper left side of my mouth. I visited him for the fourth time after x-rays, whittling down of the tooth, and a diagnosis of and work for an invisible cracked tooth. All three visits and a temporary tooth did nothing to take care of the pain, and so I went back to the dentist.
He kept talking about being conservative. He whittled more of my tooth until my tongue panicked at not finding much back there. He dove in to polish up the tooth, and I jerked and moaned. He inquired. I said, "No change. It hurts." That seemed to annoy him as if I hadn't mentioned pain in the last three visits. He sighed. He told me he would like me to give it another week and if nothing had changed it might be time to have an endodontist weigh in. I gave it three days, made the call myself, and visited the endodontist.
I had a root canal several years ago. This dentist sent me to a woman endodontist who worked on me while I watched a movie, headphones over my ears. It was a great experience and so when my dentist recommended a different endodontist this time I was perplexed. That seemed to exhaust him too, and I could see my Patient of the Year award slipping out of my fingers. He had his receptionist give me both phone numbers; the new endodontist and the woman I had gone to previously. I tried to gauge from the office staff the change, but they told me to go to whomever I chose. I caved and called the new guy.
I liked him. He had a sense of humor. His staff was great. His assistant took x-rays, and when I asked for her opinion she actually gave it to me. The endodontist came in, examined me, looked at the x-rays and told me I needed a root canal. The whittling down of my tooth over the various years, not to mention months, had brought it closer and closer to the nerve. The x-ray showed some darkness around the root which indicated it was on its way to an infection. He showed me on the x-ray with tooth #14 how the pulp and the roots looked in that tooth. It reminded me of an octopus with the pulp as the head and the various nerves and roots its legs. Unfortunately, tooth #15 didn't look anything like that. Instead, it was everything rolled into one giant ball with the nerves all tangled around the pulp. Of course, it was.
He offered to do the root canal right then and there. I was not prepared for that, but I gave him the thumbs up and he scrubbed in. The procedure took about an hour and his assistant replaced my temporary crown and told me not to floss or eat anything "gummy" because she didn't feel the temporary crown would hold if I did. I nodded, forked over another $1,000+, and left with a mouth that hurt and two prescriptions to fill if needed.
It took one week for that side of my mouth to recover. One week where I was sure that the procedure hadn't worked. One week of my tongue playing nursemaid to my gums, the roof of my mouth, and the inside of my lip. Eventually, everything settled down, and low and behold (insert harp music), my tooth did not hurt. Not only was I relieved, but I felt vindicated. I knew I had needed a root canal. I knew I wasn't crazy.
It took approximately six weeks for my crown to be made. Six days before my scheduled appointment my temporary crown fell out. It was Saturday.
Darcy: "And how did that happen, mom? Huh? What were you doing?"
Madison: "What was in your mouth when this happened?"
Please. Who's the mother here? I was on my way to watch my niece in a dance recital. I had stopped to let Madison run inside to get flowers, and I popped a piece of gum into my mouth. To freshen my breath. This is something I do quite often, and since my tooth issues, I have chewed only on the right side of my mouth. For some reason, in the rushing around and thinking ahead to the rest of my busy day I forgot and chewed on the left side. The crown came out in my gum.
Madison: "And weren't you told not to eat "gummy" things?"
Darcy: "Uh huh. Gum. Is that something you should have had in your mouth?"
Listen! I'm old. I forget things. I was busy and rushing and, and, and... I put the crown back into my mouth where it stayed for several more hours until it came out again while I was eating mash potatoes. Mash potatoes! That crown had just expired. It had worn out. It put in its time and needed to be replaced. I did that on Tuesday.
My sixth appointment in the dental field was not pleasant. He had to scrap off the bonding agent. He had to clean out decay. He had to irrigate. He had to close up the gaping hole made during the root canal. He had to build up the tooth. He had to put on the crown. At one point three hands were in my mouth at one time. I had wet, goop slashed on to my cheek and into my nostril. My cheek was pinched. The corner of my lip got stuck. The vibrations and the drilling noises made my ears hurt. By the time the two hours were over my jaw had to be massaged just so it would close. I had a pounding headache. I was not in the best frame of mind when my dentist returned to polish and work on the bite.
This is the part I dread. This is where a piece of colored paper is inserted and I bite and grind and then the dentist whittles down the tooth where the color markings are indicated on the tooth. He always does this with gauze under my tongue and in the upper and lower regions of my mouth. How is that normal? How can anyone tell whether the bite is right with all of that in her mouth? I said it didn't feel right and we repeated the routine over again. We did this three times, and then I could feel tears threatening to fall.
Dentist: "How does that feel?"
Me: "It's fine."
Dentist: "Don't tell me what you think I want to hear. I want to know how it feels."
His annoyance was the last straw. I love my dentist. I do. He is the same man who, when my mother broke her tooth while I was out of town, drove over from his office to her place, hauled her wheelchair down the stairs, got her down the stairs, drove her to his office, fixed her tooth, and then drove her back and got her and the wheelchair back into her condo. He is a saint. I will always be indebted to him for that act of kindness. That is the kind of man he is, but at that point, I was just plain over the damn tooth issue. I had been dealing with this since January. I had eye rolling, and whittling, and non-believers, and pain, pain, pain for six months. I was done.
Me: "It's fine. It's fine. Right now I just want to clean out my mouth. I want a toothbrush to wash away all of the germs I know you people left in my mouth. Is that too much to ask? The least you can do is give me a toothbrush. Can you do that? After all of this, don't I deserve a toothbrush?"
He stared at me with one of those looks my husband sometimes gives me; the "is that a horn sprouting out of her head" look. He sighed.
Dentist: "We will even give you toothpaste. What color would you like?"
I brushed and brushed and brushed. He shook my hand and told me to call him if I needed anything. His assistant began telling me I was due back in August for my five-year blah, blah, blah appointment that would consist of all sorts of horrible mouth things. I turned and ran away.
I ran out of the room and down the hall. I ran around the corner and down another hall past open doors where patients lay reclined, mouths open. I felt so free and imagined my hair blowing out behind me, my feet not even touching the floor. If that office had gone on for miles I would have kept running. Instead, I stopped at the receptionist's desk and told her to hurry and check me out before that lady came around the corner with my chart.
She was too slow. The assistant appeared, told everyone how funny I was, and proceeded to try to get me to schedule an appointment in August. I refused. I told her to go away and torture other patients. I told her that the receptionist and I would deal with it, which we did, and then I went out into my car and promptly burst into tears.
I sobbed. I cried for the six months I had spent on this tooth. I cried for my headache. I cried for pissing off my nice dentist. I cried for my poor mouth that was torn and sore. I cried for my tooth. I cried because I felt sorry for myself. Then I wiped my eyes and called my friend who was in town.
Sharon: "You sound terrible. What's wrong?"
Me: "I've been crying. This whole tooth thing has just done me in."Sniff. Sniff.
Sharon: "Okay. Drive. Come to me. Come over here to me. We will make it all better."
And I did. And she and her kids took me to eat and made it all better. As of today, the pain is minimal and the sores are healing. I am gingerly eating on that side of the mouth. I don't feel weepy anymore. I took a four and a half hour nap. I think the saga is finally coming to an end. Hallelujah, the crown is finally on!
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