From today's TIMES and NEWS-STAR
The
nice hygienist who held my hand and tried to help me as I wept like a small wet
child in the dentist chair and called her ugly names said that she’d been
taught in Teeth School that a major Tooth Ache Pain Situation – or “TAPS,” a fitting
acronym for it -- rates the same on the pain scale as labor.
Anyone
who ever eats or smiles can see why people would need teeth, would even enjoy
teeth. Teeth are good.
But
if labor pains are on the same level as a bonafide toothache, no one who’s ever
had a rebel tooth will be able to figure out why women continue to have babies.
Who
even HAS a toothache in the 21st Century? Nobody, is what I thought.
Those went out with scurvy, beri beri, polio and George Washington, famous for
his teeth made of wood. And for being on the one dollar bill. (When he paid his
dentist for his fake teeth, did he pay in all $1 bills? And sort of wink? That
zany George …)
But
modern toothaches are, “for reals,” a “thing.” It was a recent Sunday afternoon
when it started hurting. Sore in the gum. Ended up being – again, appropriately
– tooth number 13. If you go to your front top teeth and, counting to your left
three or four back, that’s it. It’s one of your main teeth. If you eat.
So
I’m telling you this in case a loved one says to you they have a toothache.
Even though you don’t see a bone sticking out or blood, believe them. One day,
it could be you. So don’t ask for who the tooth hurts: it hurts for thee.
It
will pass, you think, except it doesn’t. It gets more sore. The numbing
medicine Anbesol is good for a bit, but after a couple of hours, your tooth
laughs at Anbesol. Warm salt water helps a little. It helped me. An open dentist
office would have helped even more, but it was Sunday.
So
I prayed too.
Have
you ever had something hurt and you suspect it will quit hurting – most things
quit hurting – but it doesn’t? That was the deal with this tooth. On Sunday.
That’s where the panic began. No one to help. My family was gone. It was just
me and my dog, who has healthy teeth. She was zero help. I needed Lassie.
I
actually called and texted the dentist’s emergency number. Hours passes. No
call back. I’d have to make it through the night. Unless …
Desperate
times call for needle nose pliers. Had to do it. Because you figure if you make
it to the dentist’s office, which is a fat chance, they’ll have to pull it
anyway.
So
with a paper towel and the needle nose and in front of the mirror, I “went in.”
Grip issues stymied me. And tears. My screams scared me a little bit. Man
desperate. Man hurting. Wait: man thinking he’ll try the flathead pliers!
That
didn’t work either. Grip problems. Courage problems. Shaky hand issue. Man
panicky. Man defeated.
The
hours were long after that. At 8, the receptionist over the phone, probably
before she’d sat down good, said they could see me at 10:30. Man weeping.
But
there was the eventual visit, The Altercation With The Nice Lady, then some
calming medicines for a solid week until the Heavy Duty Dentist could see me
and “fix” what was ‘dead pulp,” which causes pressure, which makes you curse
and cry and not eat or sleep. But when it’s fixed, well, Glory, and Hallelujah.
The
moral? I don’t want to waste your time. I’m just saying swallow your pride if
your tooth hurts and get to the dentist. It won’t heal itself. If you try to
walk the lonely enamel-bricked road alone, you’ll end up bloodying your tool
box, pulling out all your teeth, and probably most of your hair.
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