When I was 8 or 9, I was playing in the driveway – behind my parents’ old VW Bug – with my sisters and our dog, Cocoa. She was a good, ol’ dog, and she loved us kids. Anyway, we were all jumping around and Cocoa, being just one of the girls, went for it: she jumped up on my back. I was a scrawny kid, so her weight sent me toward the ground. But I didn’t hit the driveway. Instead, I caught the car’s bumper with my front teeth and that was all she wrote.
I could feel my 2 broken teeth, and I frantically searched the driveway for the broken bits. I knew I was gonna be in trouble, and my kid-brain thought I could lessen the wrath, if only I could find those tooth parts. Alas, they were lost forever.
I went in the house and sure enough, my mother yelled that I had ruined my teeth. She then exclaimed, “I have a headache!” and went to her room. We kids were told to be quiet and cater to her for the rest of the day.
This wasn’t easy, no matter when. But with 2 broken teeth – 1 broken so far up that the nerve sac was exposed – it was particularly difficult. Still, I did as I was told. While being quiet, I tried to treat that nerve sac gingerly, as I was no dummy. I couldn’t help but look at it in the mirror. It looked like a single, fat specimen of ruby-red grapefruit pulp – only darker – suspended from the inside of my broken tooth. I also couldn’t help running my tongue over it, even though the air exposure was, shall we say, uncomfortable. Lord knows I tried. But I was just a kid.
Some time the next day or so, I was taken to the dentist. It was my first visit ever. I was terrified of getting a shot in my mouth, and after the doctor had poked around in there and left the room briefly, I told my mother how afraid I was. She laughed at me and said, “He just gave you the shot!” Wha? I never even felt it.
The doctor proceeded to build up a cement-like substance, to re-form my broken teeth. He then – I swear to God – used regular old tape to hold the fake part in place in my mouth while it set. And it worked! When I left the dentist’s office, I had 2 pretty good fake “teeth” attached to what was left of my own. (They were so good, in fact, they lasted me until I was 17 and got my first veneers.) Everyone in that office had been so nice to me and had taken such good care of me. I decided then and there that I liked dentists.
I was 16 before I saw a dentist again, and I’ve been a regular dentist-goer ever since. I’ve been with my current dentist for something like 15 years, and I absolutely adore him, his office and staff. Because I take such good care of my teeth, the doctor doesn’t have to do much. But if something did come up, I wouldn’t hesitate to place my trust in him.
Yesterday morning I had my teeth cleaned. The office visit was par for the course: I went in, got comfortable in the chair, then nearly fell asleep during the cleaning. I’m not kidding. It happens every time. That’s just how much I love going to the dentist. In fact, I’ve told my dentist that if he’s ever getting rid of that chair, I’ll take it.
As the hygienist was getting ready to start yesterday, she said something about how awesome my teeth are and that I must come from a dentally-strong family. I just laughed and told her I come from a long line of white-trash, dentally-challenged people and that I marvel at the fact my teeth are still in my head at all. She laughed with me and then started cleaning my teeth. In a matter of seconds, my eyes started closing and I felt my body relax…
