Illustration by Jan Igoe
Remember when the tooth fairy would brave the night skies just to leave a shiny coin under your pillow every time you lost a tooth? I do. These days, that fickle fairy has either lost my address or won’t buy vintage molars. When I find her, I plan to wrap those flimsy little wings around her neck.
If she’d been smart, Ms. Fairy would have invested the cash in treasury bonds, blue chip stocks or annuities. Instead of a few measly coins, kids would have found income projection statements under their pillows. I didn’t need her tooth money then, but I sure could use it now.
Dental emergencies are never cheap and mine always wait for weekends. I was cheerfully chomping a fat-free macaroon on Friday night, when my tongue discovered a bunch of razor-sharp spikes where a molar used to be. Its royal crown was missing, presumably swallowed in a wad of sticky coconut. I had no intention of looking for it.
My dentist pronounced the tooth—or what was left of it—DOA. The root canal failed, the tooth was cracked and the tissue infected. It had to go. It cost $120 just to review my options:
A) Pull the tooth and leave a crater: $150
B) Pull the tooth and install cadaver bone: $550
C) All of the above plus an implant: $5,150
He prescribed some Valium for surgery day, but I really needed it when he handed me the estimate. Since no one would be examining my molars unless I was standing under a “Horse for Sale” sign, I went with option A.
Dr. Dinger told me to take one—no, make that two—Valium. He deduced that I was the nervous type, merely because I casually inquired about general anesthesia and traveling to any country that offered it.
By surgery day, my shoulders were stuck up around my ears and my fists wouldn’t unclench. The Valium may as well have been a case of Red Bull. I made it to his chair, where he attacked me with sharp weapons straight out of my worst nightmares.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” the doc said. “You won’t be able to feel anything.”
I felt everything, but still held out hope that the drugs would kick in. Ten minutes later, he returned to ask if I could feel my bottom lip. “Of course,” I said, but that was the wrong answer. Exasperated, he stabbed me a few more times.
His drugs were having no effect, no matter how many times he stuck me. I read that some people are very hard to numb, especially if they fear dentists, are complete cowards or have red hair (which I do this month). I was three for three.
Finally, the dentist snuck up on me and yanked the tooth out before I could protest, which was much less traumatic than those gigantic needles. About three hours later, I was back home nursing the bloody excavation site, when I felt my bottom lip go numb.
I placed the icky molar under my pillow, hoping the tooth fairy would fork over at least $500 for such a valuable antique. If she’s been diversifying her portfolio, that’s not a lot to ask.
I just hope she’s not too old to fly.
Jan Igoe fears needles and blood, particularly hers. She hopes your dentist is gentle and has better drugs. Avoid macaroons, keep flossing and may all your toothaches be on weekdays. Say hello any time at HumorMe@SCLiving.coop.