Just When You Think You’re Home Free
Someone calls “foul!”
I just got back from the dentist, where I haven’t been in months, for obvious reasons. But the office has reopened and I was overdue for a session with the hygenist.
A dental-phobe for years, I finally found a practice that I can visit without mainlining valium before a visit. Speaking of, one of the reasons I love my guy is that he incorporates all the bells and whistles. He uses the latest techniques and even offers full-on sedation. You know: The kind where they stick a needle in your arm and it’s lights out. To me, that’s like a mini-vacation.
Naturally, flawless technique comes at a cost. Between our various procedures, my husband and I will be paying this guy off forever. But at least he allows us to do that. And now that we have no dental insurance, the cost of a simple extraction can be staggering. And even when we had insurance, sedation, which I opted for during my first extensive “procedure,” isn’t covered.
Yeah. Insurance companies suck. They’re the devil.
Full disclosure: I popped a Xanax this morning before my appointment as my usual hygenist left the practice and I wasn’t sure who would be digging around in my mouth.
As it turns out, the new woman is great. Highly experienced and she listens when you say, “Hey, I need more of that numbing gel than most people.”
Although I take pristine care of my teeth, brushing and flossing at least twice a day, maybe more, I have my problems, largely due to genetics and my metabolic makeup. I have a very sensitive mouth, y’all.
During the visit, I found out that apparently, there is a tooth on the lower right side of my mouth that is “questionable.” It’s right next to an implant that took — and I’m not making this up — over two years to finally make it to my mouth, because I had to have a bone graft first. And we had to make sure the graft “took.” Much like a marriage in the early stages.
Anyway, my hygenist decided that an X-ray of the tooth was in order. Damn, I hate having to look at X-rays of my mouth! Who wants to look at their own friggin’ death mask?
So, I’m nice and numb and we’re chugging along like a well-oiled machine. She used this aerosol thingy that shoots water and Glycine to clean in and around the gums. A procedure that’s considerably less uncomfortable than the stainless steel hook.
There were actually two people working on me: The hygenist and her assistant. Since Covid, they do things a bit differently. For example, I had a cannula in my nose to soak up whatever the hell it soaks up, cotton stuffed in various corners of my mouth to catch my excess spit and a pair of snappy shades covering my eyes. I’m not sure if the shades were for my benefit, to shield the overhead beam, or theirs so that they didn’t see me wince, but I was glad to have them.
The hygenist talked to me throughout the cleaning, explaining this and that, and I responded with several “Uhhh….Uhhh…Yeth,” along with the occasional two thumbs up. What a trooper I am!
It felt like I was in the chair forever. I have to say, the staff is nothing if not thorough. And I love the fact that right outside the windows facing the dental version of La-Z-Boys, they’ve hung a number of bird feeders. So while patients are getting orally poked and prodded up the wazoo, they can watch our feathered friends engaging in birdy bliss.
After a while, when I knew the cleaning was winding down, I was feeling pretty good about things until it was time for the dentist to make his appearance. He always takes a look-see after the cleanings.
The hygenist pointed out the new X-ray and his response was, “Oh, gosh!” At that moment, my mood went to shit.
It seems like something is going on in the lower right portion of my mouth. Between the implant and the tooth next to it, is a dark spot. There it was, Right on the old X-ray. It turns out, that the spot signifies decay and the dentist thinks that it’s traveled under my implant.
Do you know what this means? “There goes the rest of the government cheese,” that’s what it means. And then some. Hey, I’m not complaining. I’m happy to have it, but…you know?
In truth, I had been experiencing some “discomfort” in the area but figured if I didn’t mention it, perhaps it would disappear. Like magic! Just like the Orange Turd said about the virus!
My guy told me that he might have to remove the implant to get to the bad shit underneath, or, he could drill a hole in it. I think my sphincter shriveled up as he was explaining this. He did it as gently as possible and I love the guy, but sometimes you can’t win for losing. I take care of my teeth and gums. Really good care. Some people avoid the dentist for years and never have as much as a cavity. Every procedure I have runs in the thousands.
My dentist asked if I would be wanting sedation. I poo-poohed it and he said, “That’s great. You’ve come a long way!”
Not so long as it turns out because now, at the thought of him injecting and drilling and scraping and all the other crap, I think I’ll take another mini vay-cay. So, hell to the yeah, I’ll let him knock me out.
Hell. It’s only money, right? And a smile beats a grimace any day.
Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.
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