Tooth in Advertising

That's somebody's mouth over there. I don't know whose it is, it's certainly not mine.

But it's a nice mouth, so I lifted it off of some website to illustrate today's blog (I'm probably going to hell for this -- well, I'm probably going to hell anyway, but that's a whole different subject).

It's all about the new crown I got yesterday. I wrote about the crumbling frontal tooth about a month ago. It's taken three trips to the dentist to get the new crown molded and fitted.

It looks great.

It should.

It's gonna cost me Three Thousand Dollars. No, I'm not kidding. And I don't have dental. That's the going rate in New York City for a really fine piece of Chevres porcelin, molded and glazed to perfection and perfectly fitted over a titanium post.

I gotta find me a dentist in New Jersey.

I've been going to Jerry for the better part of three decades now. I feel almost disloyal for even thinking it. But I can't afford him anymore. 3g's for a crown is not outrageous for a Wall Streeter, but it's way out of the ballpark for a legal secretary.

I'll pay it and move on.

Boy, if there are two things an alcoholic hates, its a) Change and b) The Way Things Are.

Fortunately, pain has little memory (if it did, women would never have more than one baby), and probably by this time next year, I'll have forgotten all about the fiscal catastrophe caused by the tooth and I'll trudge back to Dr. Jerry when the NEXT tooth bites the dust.

Because one definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again in the hopes of achieving a different result.

And if there's one thing I am...

it's insane (but my teeth look FABULOUS!)

Shards of My Tooth

I was peacefully munching on a Trail Mix bar (breakfast) this morning when it happened. I knew that the "tell-tale" crunch in my mouth was very distinctly uncharacteristic of the usual consistency of my Trail Mix bars.

And I knew what that meant. Somewhere in my mouth were the remains of a tooth. So I did my usual "tongue-filtering", carefully prodding the chewage in my mouth and segregating the suspected pieces of tooth off to one side where I could pick them off of my tongue for placement, and further inspection, on an unfolded napkin on my desktop.

The damage was worse than I thought. It was an incisor, not some backwater molar I could begnignly neglect for days/weeks/months/deathbed. It was right there in front, where the whole world could see it and instantly judge me to be some Hillbilly from the Piedmont.

And that would not do, indeed. So I called my dentist.

I have been seeing my dentist since his girls were, well, since they were girls. The eldest starts med school in the Fall. Jerry and I go way back. I could find a cheaper dentist in New Jersey, but it's unlikely I will ever find another dentist who will happily give up a Saturday to trek into the office from Connecticut in order to make a post for my new crown, or who would hastily re-organize his entire Friday schedule to fit me in for a one and a half hour dental fiasco, or who would send out one of his assistants to pick up a hastily phoned-in prescription for antibiotics which I'm required to take before any dental work can be done.

Dr. Jerry is that kind of a guy. And I believe in being loyal to a man who has saved my mouth from excruciating pain one more than one occasion over the last 20 years.

So I called the office and they said, "C'mon down at 12:30." I carefully reassembled, to the best of my ability, the shards of my tooth and scotch-taped the reassembled dental relic to a paper napkin. I arrived at his office at 12:30, there was much fuss because I hadn't "pre-medicated" with the antibiotic (it's hard to pre-medicate for an emergency -- I must remember to try to organize this better the next time it happens), which finally got straightened out and, at 2:15 I was discharged back into the world with a lovely temporary crown that you can't tell from the real deal.

As I said, Jerry will give up his Saturday to come in and make the post (it's Titanium), and I'll seem him again next Thursday at 4:00 to implant the post and make the impression for the crown.

Luckily for me, we never got around to the subject of the great gaping hole in my gum on the right side of my mouth, where that inflamed crown was ripped out last December (remember that?!)

We play this little game, Jerry and I do.

It's kind of like "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." If I don't bring the subject up, he'll act like nothing's the matter.

I like that in a doctor!