Tags

, , ,

tooth-painOkay, I get it that writers are always working out their own issues. Most of the time at least.

Our subjects are based upon our own peculiar fears, demons, and anxieties. Nowhere is this more true than in the field of fiction where nearly everyone’s first novel is at least partially autobiographical.

I have long ago given up the idea that I could write fiction, other than the very short story.

And blogging has been a diary of sorts on more than one occasion. It is again today when I divulge a secret I’ve had for many a year, and a shame I have sought to keep hidden.

Oh I bet you are sooo very paying attention now aren’t ya? The old gal is gonna tell us she was a street walker to work her way through undergrad, or she once participated in a home robbery driving the get-away-car, or she sold stolen puppies at a truck stop.

Nah, but those would be whopping good one’s for sure. Maybe there is a fiction book in me after all.

Actually it’s mundane, and I rather suspect I share this shameful secret with many a Brit.

Here it is:

I have genetically lousy teeth and I never took care of them worth a damn most of my life.

There I said it.

And you guessed it, “the chickens have come home to roost.”

After a few extractions of back molars which didn’t matter that much aesthetically speaking, the “shit has hit the fan”–quick are there more metaphors?

Now a frontally leaning incisor has broken and well I’m tired of trying to smile with my mouth closed. I’m tired of trying to chew mostly on one side of my mouth, forcing inevitably my jaw out of alignment. I’m tired of MOUTH PAIN. I’m tired of going in search of a sledge-hammer to remove the incessant pounding that makes childbirth a gloriously fun adventure in comparison.

When I took a sip of coffee his morning and my mouth exploded in waves of “Jesus H. Christ, almighty, and Mary Mother of God, this HURTS, I knew I had reached the point of no return.

Don’t ask me what I have been waiting for. I have no clue. I was stupidly under the impression that Medicare (2 1/2 years away) would magically pay it for me? Memories of long sessions in the chair while smoke emanated from my mouth and the whirr of the drill echoed through my moaning with a mouthwash wreaking torturer dentist, sucked air through his teeth as he breathed through his mouth, all the time, issuing a mantra of “just a little bit more, just a little bit more” for a fucking HOUR? No, no that couldn’t be it.

Or try the assessment of a real dentist some fifteen years later who asked me, “what hack did this? These cavities were never properly cleaned or filled in the first place.” So I wasted untold hours of torture and pain all for a big fat nothing? You jest surely. You better be jesting if you want to retain those pearls in your mouth buddy.

So I stayed as far away from dentists as I could.

Yes that makes no logical sense, but it made perfect emotional sense.

When you are young, you tell yourself that you will pay a price when you get older, but you DON’T TOTALLY BELIEVE THAT BILGE.

So off I went for another “emergency” appointment.

And I got the expected outcome. Two need to come out, but are too badly infected to deal with today. So I’m on antibiotics and pain meds until next Tuesday, when we will start at the opposite end of the “issues”, namely cavities and fillings and molds for a partial plate and well, I’m not up on all the lingo of the teeth trade. It’s going to cost a house and then some (well more than I want to spend which is exactly O).

I’m told that I still have good jaw bones so no, dentures are not the answer, I still have pretty good teeth except for the ones that are gone or going. I still have enough to wire fake one’s to them. I can smile once again with my mouth open. I do not have to say, “no, I’m actually not from West Virginia sir and never lived “on” a mountain in my life.”

I have no idea what you will think of me. I mean, I can afford this, I’d just rather spend the money on a Prius.

I’ve fairly convinced the Contrarian to follow my lead and get his teeth done too. He has his issues. And besides, why should I have all the fun?

 

Advertisements