Rotten Teeth

Ok. Get ready. This is a screed about dentistry.

My first experience with dentistry was as an elementary school kid. Our school had been selected to have its students participate in an experimental “fluoride” treatment program. Once a week we were bused to a gymnasium to have our teeth treated. It seemed like it happened about 3 or 4 weeks. It was relatively painless and it freed us from the prison of a classroom. So far, not a major problem.

My second experience was my first dentist appointment. I enjoyed the tropical fish aquarium in the waiting room but did not appreciate having teeth drilled to fill cavities. In those days I had multiple cavities and a “good” appointment was when there was only one. So much for the fluoride experiments.

In junior high I had many trips to the dentist as my teeth were filled with cavities. Our family dentist predicted I would need dentures by the time I was thirty, which was about the same age my father was when he was “in-dentured.” Genetics always triumphs. A few years later I was preaching at a summer chapel for vacationers and the dentist who made the “thirty years old” prophecy was in the congregation. I hope I did not cause him as much pain as he caused me.

In early adulthood I went through a series of crowns, root canals, and extracted wisdom teeth as if this was all par for the course but I did manage to live past thirty with no dentures. Over the years I have had numerous crowns, some gold, some porcelain, along with additional root canals and several apiceoctomies (look it up if you want to be grossed-out). In fact, my second one was down during our Yucatan sojourn and a year later it needed to be repeated. I can hear your comments already: “Never trust a Mexican dentist.” Well, this endodontist acknowledged that he must not have removed all of the tip of the root the first time so there would be no charge for the second procedure. Don’t expect that in the US.

Over all the years I have frequently confessed that I hate dentists. In my lecture to student chaplains about suicide I would ask which profession had the highest suicide rate. They never guessed that it was dentists. Why? Because dentists get tired of being down in the mouth.

So last week, sitting in my latest sadist’s chair, I announced that I hated dentists. He calmly responded. “Let me tweak that a little bit for you. You don’t hate dentists; you hate dental procedures.”

I was back in his rack, er, I mean chair, this morning and I thanked him for making that correction. Little did I want him angry with me while he extracted an abscessed molar.

Yes, it is still oozing blood.