Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be toothless

So, today was a wee bit harrowing. I'll admit that. It all started last Friday night at a pleasant crawfish boil. What could be dangerous about that, you might ask? Plenty. Alright, actually not much. Except that on the second crawfish half of my top left molar fell off. I thought it was just a lost filling. It didn't hurt, thank the Lord. One moment, my tooth was there, the next, part of it was swallowed. Though, I do not blame the crawfish for this infusion of roughage.

Monday promptly at 8:00, when they open, I call my dentist. Ahh. The receptionist assures me, it is probably just a lost filling, as that tooth was filled only a few years ago on that corner, and could I come in Tuesday morning to have the filling replaced? "Sure," I say, "only I have another doctors appointment at eleven and cannot be late." (This is the vein guy for the, thankfully only one, vein which got totally destroyed in the accident and needs to get shut down for good...did I mention that I must be at least a thousand years old?)

"Won't be a problem," she assures me. Wait for it.

I get there on time this morning at 8:30 (a miracle in itself), and plop myself in the chair. Assistant dude peers into my mouth and immediately skutters off to find the dentist. Hmmm. Not a good sign, I think.  She arrives and peers into my gaping mouth.

"This is not a lost filling. A fourth of your tooth has departed. We will need to do a crown."

Drat, I think. I've been putting off that crown for years. "Okay, but I need to leave by 10:30 at the latest for another doctor's appointment."

"Not a problem." she says. Wait for it.

So they do their thing. She shoots me three times with that oh-so-painful needle straight to the nerve, then we wait the five minutes for it to numb and the drilling starts.

Ping! I utter a groan as the drill goes straight to my heart. Not numb. Another shot. We wait. Drilling starts again. Ping! Not numb. This happens four times, by which time I cannot even close my mouth and am drooling onto the bib clipped to my chest. My lip is so numb I have to use my fingers to move it out of the way in order to close my mouth. But still, pain upon drilling.

"I can't believe this." Says the dentist.

This is not something you want to hear, by the way, when you are the person in the dental chair.

"Well, sometimes, there is a mutant nerve coming from who knows where, which we are not able to locate and numb."

Really? And I have to be the one with the mutant nerve? Crap. So there we are. The clock is ticking. She does not even offer to add more drugs to my cheek, which has now turned into Silly Putty. I grip my hands together tightly and try to imagine myself on a tropical island while she drills straight into my last nerve. She assures me she is trying to make quick passes through the bad (non-numb) corner. She pauses. I wipe my brow, as I am now sweating profusely. "One more tiny bit. I am ninety percent done." Can I tell you? That last ten percent was H-E-L-L.

Whew. That done, all that then remained was taking the impressions and the temporary crown, this the job of assistant dude. I must admit, it was pretty funny when he had to take a second impression, due to a bubble in the first, and he goes, "I'm sure you must already hate me, but I need to ask you to open wide again, so I can take another impression."

Actually, I didn't hate him. I thought he was a nice, polite guy. Not his fault I have a mutant nerve. The thing that stuck with me was the dentist's comment. She was wondering aloud why in the world I have these four molars, two already crowned, third now in process and fourth needing it badly, all trashed with HUGE fillings to begin with, while all my other teeth, aside from many small fillings, seem basically sound.

"Well, the first time I ever got taken to a dentist, I was thirteen years old. I had thirteen cavities by then, the worst of which resulted in those four fillings." 

"That would explain it." She said. "Too bad they didn't get caught sooner."

Yeah. Too, too bad. As in all of this could have been avoided. As in, Crap-ola. As in, Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be toothless. Is it any wonder I was vigilant about taking my kids to the dentist every six months their whole lives? Kids need dentist. Count on it, people.

I scurried out of there, drooling onto my sweater at 10:45, and sped to the nerve doc, arriving only five minutes late. Not bad. On reflection, I figured it could have been much worse. My grandma was in full dentures by the age of thirty. And tomorrow is a new day.

On a happier note, yesterday was spent at The Dallas Arboretum with my delightful photography buddies enjoying the tulips and other blooms. What amazing extravagance nature provides. These photos are all from that shoot. Beauty soothes.