I almost didn't get it. My dentist, and please know that I believe my dentist to be one of the good guys as I've written here before, talked me into taking the leap off the ledge to protect my nice set of teeth, and since my mother already had a mouth guard, I bought the damn thing. (My poor husband came unhinged over that little purchase, and that was a blog entry I should have posted back in the day)
In the beginning, I blamed my teeth shifting and tiny missing parts due to my nail biting habit, and I only wore the guard occasionally when I remembered to do so. I've spent so much of my life with a contraption in my mouth what with the retainers, braces, and multiple head gears (that I wore all at one time, mind you) that I truly did not care to shove another thing into my mouth unless covered in chocolate or sugar.
One of the negatives that kept it out of my mouth, was the cleaning. Every morning I was supposed to use a separate toothbrush, brush it, dry it, and tuck it neatly and safely away in its box. But that was back in the day when I had kids to get up and dressed and off to school, and my routine of sleeping until the last possible minute due to my nighttime showering and quickness in pulling myself together in the dawn did not include all that cleaning of a piece of plastic. It took up too much time, and what was I suppose to dry it with? A germy hand towel?
My friend, my younger friend, also a mouth guard owner, threw hers into hydrogen peroxide every morning, and so that seemed much simpler. The problem, however, was I threw it into a cup of the liquid and promptly forgot to wear the guard for weeks, or it could have been months, and when I remembered the thing it had turned an orange color. I was horrified, sure that I had done something that could get me in big trouble until I remembered that I was an adult and pretty much immune to outbursts of anger and punishment from adults in my life.
Okay, that last part wasn't true, because I worried needlessly for weeks before my scheduled cleaning appointment (guards accompany you to every appointment for adjustments and cleaning) like my dentist was going to put me in a time-out corner. No one cared, however, about my orange guard. All my dentist cared about was that I was wearing the guard nightly. So I gave him that and told him I was. Liar.
Somewhere, however, through the years, after waking with a stiff jaw and a mighty headache, I started wearing the guard more often until now I can't sleep without it. Seriously. The thing is now like a limb. I've taken to slipping it into my mouth during my afternoon naps, and I had been thinking about wearing it during the day because obviously, I'm a tense person who grits her teeth 24/7 and not just at night. My mouth guard is now my security blanket, and I love the damn thing.
Last Monday while brushing it (an no, I use the same damn toothbrush I use on my teeth) I dropped it on the floor. I'm sure I've dropped it before, and so I picked it up, rinsed it and dropped it into the cup I keep it in. (An empty cup, not one full of color staining liquid) When I took it out that night to go to sleep, I noticed that a chunk of it had broken off.
What? I freaked out! Not only could I not find the piece, but immediately I knew I was in big trouble, not only with the dentist, but with my husband, and my mother (because she still has that kind of hold on me until I remember she is dead). I kept silent for almost a week, wearing the broken guard, and trying hard to think of ways to earn five hundred dollars for a new one. Finally, after my teeth started shifting and aching, I broke down and fussed up. My husband felt the dentist would offer a lifetime warranty on the thing.
Yesterday, as I drove to the dentist worried about the cost of a new one, but telling myself the thing was at least ten years old and therefore only $50 a year, I wondered about inflation, almost gave myself a heart attack, and finally said, what the hell. I have to have the thing. For the sake of my nice teeth, not to mention my sanity. I handed over the guard to the assistant, and almost kissed her when she said:
Her: "I think we can fix this."
And they did. It wasn't pretty, the process. My dentist worked for an hour painting a nasty tasting, highly toxic fumed substance on the pieces while in my mouth. He cured it in a little can with a handle that he carried with him into other patients' rooms. Then we did it all over again. Three times. Then he sanded it down, adjusted it, cleaned it, and shook my hand. Price: $95.
Receptionist: "Better than the $750 for replacing it, huh?"
WHAT! The cost has gone up to Seven Hundred and Fifty Dollars! For a piece of molded plastic that one sticks in one's mouth!! Holy Mother of straight teeth! I went outside to my car and thanked the Dental Gods for my dentist's ability to repair that little nugget, and then I came home and brushed it with a special brush, dried it with linen, and put it in its carrying case. Because by golly, I KNOW BETTER NOW.
No comments:
Post a Comment