Let me give you an idea of what my dental practices are. In the morning, after eating breakfast, I use a Sonic toothbrush on my teeth, gums, and tongue. This was recommended by Dentist Two to get my gums to spring back from my case of gingivitis. It actually worked, too. My mouth was starting to look much healthier, even if my teeth are a bit on the discolored side. Speaking of which, Dentist Two’s hygienist told me to use Sensodyne Pronamel because the enamel of my teeth has faded considerably. I am apparently at risk of having my teeth chip and crack because of this. So when I use the Sonic toothbrush, I put Pronamel on it. Then, I use a proxy brush (also with Pronamel on it) to go between my teeth, rather than floss. Lastly, I use the mini brush and the special mouthwash I was given a couple of chapters ago to keep the cap on my implant clean. And then, just before I go to bed, I do it all over again.
Three months of this, and thousands of dollars. But it will all be worth it.
I went in to Dentist Two to have the abutment put in. It was a very quick procedure. In fact, calling it a procedure seems a bit pretentious. I sat down, and she unscrewed the cap. She then snapped a plastic piece into place, and that was it. My abutment was in.
When I looked in the mirror, what I saw looked like a filed down, miniature tooth with a flat top. Weird, but better than the metal knob. I was then told that I could have the crown put on whenever I wanted. I said I had a cleaning scheduled with Dentist One in about a month, and she said that was fine.
On my way out, I was presented with the bill. “Four-twenty-five,” I was told.
I pulled out a five. That seemed reasonable for a piece of plastic.
“Sorry, hon. I meant four hundred and twenty-five.”
“Oh.” Well, I couldn’t pay that. In fact, all I could offer was the five. I now have yet another bill, this time for $420. Which would be cool, if I smoked weed.
I decided not to wait for the cleaning. I wanted this done as soon as possible. I contacted Dentist One and was told that I could come in for the molding at the end of the week. From there, it would take two weeks to make the crown, and then everything would finally be done.
It’s a good thing I didn’t wait the month, then. I wanted to be done as soon as possible.
I went in for the molding. It sounded simple enough, but it was actually kind of gross. Dentist One popped out the $425 abutment and put this half-tray with goo on it in my mouth.
“This will take five minutes to set,” he said, and he held the tray in place.
I felt the cold goo ooze around my teeth and into the empty spot. At first, it was just uncomfortable, and then I tasted it as it rubbed up against my tongue. Awful. But the worst part was trying to swallow.
I’ve got a bad gag reflex, and it reared its ugly head that day. I started gagging with the thing in my mouth. I tried not to, but my throat just started convulsing. Dentist One tried his best to help, but he couldn’t take the tray out now. We had to stay the course.
“Just lean forward. Don’t swallow. I don’t care if you drool all over the place.”
I took this advice and started breathing heavily through my nose. Saliva ran like a river out of my mouth, down his gloved hand, and down to the bib around my neck. I felt gross and foolish.
But finally, it was over. He yanked the mold out of my mouth and prepared the next one. “Don’t worry, this one sets after only a minute.” It was still bad, but it could have been worse. I didn’t gag on this one, but I was building up to it. If it was in any longer, I probably would have puked all over Dentist One.
After this was done, he held up a bunch of sample crowns against my other teeth, and it took me a moment to realize he was trying to match up the color. As soon as he’d settled on one, he let me out of the chair and said, “We’ll set you up for two weeks, and then this thing will be over.”
We decided that I’d just come in earlier on my cleaning day. We’d put the crown in, and then we’d get my teeth cleaned. And that would be all she wrote.
Between that day and the day of the crown, I received notification from my insurance. This crown alone was going to cost me $1,600. I didn’t think it would be that much. Fuck. And I didn’t expect the insurance to cover any of it, but still.
Let this be a lesson, kids: don’t lose your teeth.
I noticed a paragraph on the letter, though, that gave me some hope. Dentist One’s office didn’t submit all the paperwork. It was possible that some of this would be soaked up by the insurance, if everything was filed properly.
When I went in to get the crown placed in, I mentioned this to the assistant. She said that she’d noticed the discrepancy, and that everything had been sent in per the insurance company’s instructions. Guess what: it’s possible that they’ll pay a good percentage of this. At the time of this writing, I don’t know if this is true. Maybe I’ll write an epilogue some day and let you know.
They led me back to the dentist’s chair, and I was given a cursory examination. When Dentist One determined that everything was good, he showed me the crown, which he’d filled with some kind of liquid. Concrete, I think. He then slid it into place and gave me a cotton ball to bite on.
“There’s a clock up there,” he said, pointing. “Bite down as hard as you can for an entire minute. Then, bite firmly for another minute.”
How, exactly, does one quantify the difference between biting firmly and biting as hard as one can? Just to be sure, I pushed my jaw up against the rest of my head as hard as possible for an entire minute. Only then did I rely on my ordinary biting strength.
Soon, it was all over. The cotton ball was removed, and I was escorted over to the opposite side of the building for my cleaning. It wasn’t until I got back out to my car that I got a look at my new tooth.
It’s passable. If no one is trying to find it, it will look just like any other tooth. However, if given more than a cursory examination, it’s pretty obvious. There is a short distance between it and my gum-line, which doesn’t compare with the rest of my teeth at all. There is a plastic quality to it, and the lack of a filling distinguishes it from the rest of my molars. However, the dentist managed to match the color to the rest of my teeth EXACTLY.
Having gone so long without a tooth there, it feels strange in my mouth, especially if I’m chewing. It’s so much smoother than the rest of my teeth, it feels like I have a marble stuck in my mouth when I’m eating.
But I’d much rather have this alien feeling—a feeling that will probably go away with time—in my mouth than to have a space between my teeth, a space where food constantly gets caught.
I can’t even tell you how many thousands of dollars I spent on this implant (because I don’t yet have the final numbers), but it’s worth every penny.
Still and all, take care of your teeth, folks. As Doc Holliday said in WYATT EARP, “They’re the only set you’ll have.”
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