I went to the dentist a week ago and I am still reeling from my visit. I received some not-so-good news and I’m having a hard time accepting it.
If you’ve ever had a cavity, then you know that when the hygienist starts poking around the scraper in the same area more than once, you realize there may be an issue. Then, if your hygienist sighs like Marge Simpson multiple times, you know without a doubt, that something is amiss. So after my hygienist, who I will call Allison, finished polishing my teeth and went in search of the dentist to have a look inside my mouth, I tweeted a dumb joke about my visit, because humor is how I cope with bad. After five minutes of Allison’s departure, I started to feel uneasy and I put down my phone and began drumming my fingers on the armrest of the slightly reclined leather dental chair I was seated in. I needed to calm down and to stop fretting. I clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers to stop the repetitive, compulsive habit and took a deep breath. I looked around the room and began counting the ceiling lights that needed to be replaced. How do they change those bulbs? A pole? Not helping. Then I found myself nervously staring out of the office’s huge plate glass windows at birds, squirrels and chipmunks filling their bellies from multiple feeders that had been placed outside for the patients’ amusement. It’s really an impressive forested view and it is one of the reasons why I like this particular dentist office. Suddenly all of the smaller critters disappeared as a hawk swooped down and landed on the ground. Boss! Have I mentioned that I am fascinated by dinosaurs? Birds are modern day dinosaurs, if you didn’t know. Anyway, I wasn’t sure if the raptor had trapped some prey in its talons, so I tried to get a better look by leaning forward when at that moment the dentist had entered the room and I forgot all about the badassery of nature that I was witnessing.
Another deep breath. I had never met this dentist. She was the wife of one of the other two dentists that own the practice that normally see me. She grabbed a scraper and Allison called out a number. The dentist clutched the scraper and poked a tooth repeatedly. Then Allison announced a different number and the dentist prodded another area. Then we went through the process again and again. I was ready to call “BINGO!” but as you know, it’s impossible to form coherent words when your facial orifice is filled with foreign objects and yet that never stops dental professionals from asking you questions while they work. The dentist finished and then asked if I had an electric toothbrush. Indeed, I do. I’ve been using them for nearly two decades. She looked surprised.
“Do you brush twice a day?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
I even offered up that I floss daily. I really do. (I suppose I did forget to mention I use a fluoride rinse too, but was it necessary? No, she had already moved on.)
She then shared her diagnosis and I was left in disbelief. I need four fillings and a crown. What in the goddamn? I just had my first crown done after my last six-month visit and it wasn’t pleasant.
I admit it, as a child I was terrible when it came to oral hygiene. It didn’t help that I drank soda and ate candy for meals as if I lived at Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
(Remember when Johnny Depp played Willy Wonka and saw his dad, the dentist, who gave him an oral exam and he had perfect teeth? What was that? Why did they remake that Gene Wilder classic? And Johnny Depp as Wonka? I once had an editor who sent me to a film location to try and snap a photo of Depp in Aurora more than a decade ago like I was paparazzi. She, the editor, was a big fan apparently. I missed his face but I did manage to capture his hand as he waved to the small crowd from an SUV behind the Paramount Theatre. They’re Just Like Us!)
By age 10, I already had seven cavities filled all without novocaine. My parents didn’t believe in paying for anesthetics, because, duh, that costs money. When I was 13, I face planted into the gym floor while attempting to block a shot as if I were Dennis Rodman during a co-ed basketball game during P.E. That didn’t go over well with the ladies. (Two years later while pretending to be Chris Chelios this time, I accidentally gave my future wife a black eye with my elbow while playing floor hockey. I’m very serious about winning (check my last name) and that we all should be treated equal, male or female.) Anyhow, I cracked my front teeth in half and the nerves were exposed. I collected my teeth and put them in milk, like it was going to help, actually thinking they could be, like, stitched back in place. It doesn’t work like that. My teeth needed to be repaired with bonding and without any novocaine ($, remember?). I went through hell, so I developed a fear of the dentist.
Fast forward to my twenties and I was eating fries - you know, that extremely hard food - and I cracked a molar and had to have the tooth pulled. Before the tooth was extracted I was offered and accepted the novocaine since I was paying and it didn’t cost much from what I can remember. Guess what? Anesthetics really helps with the pain. Who knew? From that point on, my dental habits changed completely and I’ve made every six-month visit since I was 23. I even had my wisdom teeth pulled and it really wasn’t that bad. I went 13 years before my next cavity. It was after my accident in 2016 when I developed complex regional pain syndrome, aka CRPS. I didn’t think much of it. I mean, I was sedated with Haloperidol in the ICU for over two weeks with a ventilator tube jammed down my esophagus. Suffice to say, I took a vacation from brushing my teeth. Only having one cavity after that trauma is pretty, pretty good, if you ask me.
Then I had the crown earlier this year and now my current situation of four more cavities and another crown needed is a lot at once. What is going on, I wondered.
That very same day I came home from the dentist, coincidentally, I saw a tweet from a CRPS organization that I follow on the Twitters that states:
“Many people with CRPS develop swollen gums and brittle teeth. Some reports suggest that 75% of people with CRPS have dental issues.”
Look, I understand I haven’t always done a good job taking care of my chompers and I knew eventually I’d pay for my neglect as a youngster, but I speculate that there may be a correlation between oral health and CRPS.
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