A Toothful Kvetch

Everyone deserves a good kvetch now and then and here’s mine…

When I was nine years old I fell off a bike and landed on my right front tooth, eating rocks and taking a perfect quarter off the southwest quadrant. And for the last three-plus decades I have dealt with the repercussions of that one klutzy move.

The repercussions started out small. I had a few temporary crowns (each one knocked out in a way all its own, including being led blindfolded into a wall by my sister and my friend Stella smacking it dead on with a box hockey stick), then as a young adult, got my first, and not nearly last, “permanent” one. Since then I have had at least five “permanent” crowns, one root canal, one root canal reversal, a post put in, a post taken out, a fractured root, a complete extraction, a bone graft and a gum graft. I’ve endured impression materials dripping down my throat, stitches as rough as AstroTurf blanketing my palette, a panic attack as the tooth next door was being bonded, and an appliance that made me spit through a job interview. Now comes the grand finale – the implant.

At my pre-implant evaluation yesterday, my oral surgeon explained what has to happen to get it to work. The bone graft I already had produced an amount of bone that is smaller than he would like, so during the implant surgery I will have an additional bone graft. He mentioned something about bovine bone, and with the cadaver bone I already have, I will be sporting quite a variety under my gum. Afterward, instead of wearing the dreaded appliance to protect the implant, I will be allowed to have a temporary crown which will be completely clear of any bite contact and slightly shorter than my other tooth, protecting it from any sort of contact with anything. This, however, is better than the gum graft aftermath, as the same surgeon suggested that after the surgery it would be best if I did not smile for six weeks. After I looked at him in abject horror, tears glassing up my pupils, he assured me that I could still lead a perfectly normal life without smiling, generous and understanding man, he is.

I am anxious to take this next step. I think, though, that it is going to take an awful lot of lemonade stands to afford this, something that insurance will likely not touch. It seems that the more insurance refuses to pay, the more the dentist charges. After all is said and done, I will have the most expensive Number 8 on the planet. Guess I won’t need that grill after all.