avatarLee G. Hornbrook

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My Extraordinary Life in the Dentist’s Chair

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Novocaine

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Unsplash

I have a bad habit of trusting professionals, thinking they are competent. Lawyers, doctors, dentists, contractors, there are hucksters and con artists everywhere in life. That’s been mostly true for me when it comes to my dentist.

Once upon a time, I wanted to be a doctor. But a “B” grade in a human anatomy course made me rethink that decision. If I got a “B” in human anatomy, my reasoning went, that’s just not good enough for the doctor biz. My dentist at the time convinced me that I made the wrong choice (I became a high-salaried English teacher, without the high-salary). Dr. Emerson, a University of Southern California graduate, said, “Do you know what they call dentists who graduate in the bottom of their class? . . . Doctor.” As a UCLA fan, I should have known better than to trust a USC dentist.

But Dr. Emerson was okay. He turned my mouth full of silver into a beautiful smile before my smile went to hell afterward.

In my early 20s, I was diagnosed with TMJ problems after nearly 5 years in braces. I got braces and glasses three days before the start of my senior year in high school (there’s another story for you — what a great boost of confidence that was). The braces straightened my teeth but never fixed my bite, despite the headgear, despite a palate expander. The orthodontist was so convinced that I was going to sue him over the TMJ problems that he paid for many referrals to specialists to figure out what the problem was.

Finally, I had arthroscopic surgery on my jaw to clean out the joints, much like one would have on a bad knee. The surgeon said that the little plates in my joint were shriveled and mangled and had holes in them like an 80-year old’s. I was 22 years old. Fortunately, they chose not to replace those plates with teflon ones. Later, many people who had the teflon plates put in developed brain cancers due to the teflon deteriorating and flecked off, traveling into the brain. I was told that the surgery would last for 10 years, and that I should eat soft for the rest of my life.

For 10 years, I ate milk shakes and apple sauce, cottage cheese and soup, pudding and jello, mashed potatoes, pureed anything. I avoided taking big bites or eating anything crunchy, especially potato chips. Eating crunchy foods or biting into apples led to 3-day tensions headaches. I took Aleve almost constantly to combat the inflammation in my jaw. I say sorry to my liver every day.

On the 10 year anniversary of my surgery, my jaw “popped” like when you crack a knuckle. And it has been popping ever since. I said to heck with the soft diet and now I eat what I want, but I’m careful not to aggravate my jaw.

I was also part of a study of TMJ surgery patients. For 7 years, I went to the doctor to have my bite width and range of jaw motion measured and answered page upon page of questionnaires about my jaw. The study concluded that surgery for TMJ problems was not recommended. Yeah, too late.

Before Dr. Emerson, I had a dentist in Kansas who gave me my first root canal. He had a busy practice. He rolled from patient to patient on a rolling stool and wore a metal reflector on his head like a cartoon doctor. He was filling a cavity one day, and he couldn’t get me numb. He’d give me a shot and roll away to another patient. He’d come back and start drilling but the tooth wasn’t numb yet, so he gave me another shot, and rolled away again. Finally, he looked more closely at my chart.

“You had braces, didn’t you?”

“Twenty years ago, yes.”

“Ahh, yes, I see that now. Sorry, I was giving you shots in the wrong place.”

He had given me 9 shots of novocaine in the wrong spot, missing the nerve.

When I moved away, I found Dr. Emerson, who replaced all the silver in my mouth and made my teeth white again. He was sensitive to my TMJ and extremely patient. His hygienest, however, was not. She berated me, claiming I came in with food on the surfaces of my teeth, when it was time for a cleaning. I hadn’t eaten and brushed well in the dentist’s office restroom before my appointment. I was paying them for this abuse?

My TMJ problems, lots of coffee, years of smoking before I quit, grinding at night, and a divorce that led my attention away from good health practices led me to more dental problems.

When I finally got health insurance again, I made several appointments to get my teeth cleaned. Three dental practices said they wouldn’t clean my teeth without doing a deep cleaning first, a root scraping and planing. I just wanted to clean my teeth (covered by my insurance) on a 6-month schedule like most people. But they wouldn’t allow it.

I was finally settled enough to find a dentist in Connecticut. The practice was highly recommended by most people in the Yale community, so I went. The dentist said I had cavities in all four corners of my mouth. There would be 4 appointments for fillings, two 1-hour appointments for smaller cavities, and two 2-hour appointments for several cavities. They also wanted to do a deep cleaning that would cost $800, for which they would not accept any insurance.

I couldn’t afford the deep cleaning, and they wouldn’t do a simple cleaning and whitening.

I did three of the four filling procedures before the pandemic hit. The 2-hour appointment was excruciating. The doctor didn’t take proper care of my TMJ. She also drilled so aggressively that it inflamed the neighboring tooth, for which I had to get a root canal during the pandemic. The endodontist filled the tooth and made an especially strong temporary crown, not knowing how long the pandemic might last. He still wanted me to get a permanent crown made within a month, if possible.

It was two months of agony. But the dentist’s office closed for several months, so I couldn’t finish the last of my treatments, the 2-hour appointment or the deep cleaning.

I was without health insurance and moved again. When I finally settled, I re-established insurance and found a dentist.

The hygienest saw me first.

“When did you last get your teeth cleaned?”

“It’s been a while. Other practices wouldn’t clean them, saying I needed to get a deep cleaning first.”

“But a regular cleaning would help your teeth overall, even before you got the deep cleaning, which you do need.”

“I thought that too, but they wouldn’t do it.”

The hygienist shook his head, and I felt swindled. I told him about my TMJ and he patiently worked to clean my teeth, showed me how to floss, applied flouride, and prescribed a flouride mouthwash. And he cleaned my teeth.

The dentist came in to look things over.

“Well, things aren’t perfect in there, but work with the hygienist and he’ll help keep you out of my chair.”

“But doctor, what about the temporary crown?”

“He filled that tooth. It’s permanent. There’s nothing to do be done about that.”

“But doctor, what about the large cavity on the back bottom molar? My previous dentist said there were several cavities that needed attention back there.”

“There’s no cavity back there. That tooth has been through the wars. It has a large filling and several smaller ones. If we mess with that tooth, it’ll probably need a root canal, but there isn’t anything do about it now.”

He poked around with his pick and tapped hard surface.

What the actual heck? So my previous dentist, the drill happy one, was going to drill into a tooth that would lead to a potential root canal situation? Who do I call about this scam artist?

I’ve had two good dentists in my life, Dr. Emerson and Dr. Jones, who was my childhood dentist, an old-fashioned doctor. He used a fancy silver syringe with curled finger loops. He hid the syringe along his forearm and pulled my cheek into the needle. He was so good that I didn’t know that’s what he did until I was 12 years old. When I first saw that long needle, I freaked out and jumped out of the chair and accused him of ancient barbaric medicine.

“You never did that before! What happened to just pulling on my cheek and making me numb? I want you to do that!”

“That’s what I’m going to. I’ve always used this syringe. I promise, it won’t hurt.”

Dr. Jones was a great dentist and cared deeply for his patients. But his practice of hiding the syringe from my child eyes was almost his undoing too.

Almost 40 years after my orthodontics, my teeth have shifted back to their pre-braces day. I’m missing a tooth so I’m not a candidate for Invisalign. And after a lifetime of jaw pain from my TMJ condition, I’m about done with dentistry altogether.

But at least now I have a dentist that doesn’t practice torture for a living. I won’t ever have a model’s smile and still have a ways to go for solid oral health, but I’ll stay out of his chair as long as I can.

When my book sells, I’ll get my smile fixed, for the book cover jacket of course.

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Lee G. Hornbrook taught college English for 25 years in every time zone in the continental United States. He writes about current events, literature, movies, mental health, growing up in the San Fernando Valley, and is at work on a memoir. Find him on Twitter @awordpleaseblog and at his personal blog A Word, Please, or his Medium publication Valley Dude.

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