Help, I'm Decaying!

What a Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day!

Since I no longer live in my hometown in California, a few months ago I decided it was about time to find a dentist out here in Mass. I had my first appointment a month ago; it was just a cleaning. For some reason they couldn't take x-rays that day or have the dentist see me, so I had to go back today for those things. At my cleaning last month the hygienist told me I had perfect teeth and had taken very good care of them, so I wasn't too concerned about my appointment today. I brush 2-3 times a day, and I floss and rinse with mouthwash every night.

The hygienist took the x-rays, and then the dentist came in to meet me. He said something that I swear sounded like, "Hi Sawah, how aw you?" in a very high-pitched voice. (I decided he was either gay, a big fan of Elmo, or suffering from a tragic speech impediment.)

He looked at the x-rays, and when I asked what the small tooth was in the back, I was told it was a wisdom tooth. I said, "I hope not, since I had all my wisdom teeth removed six years ago," but the dentist was quite certain about it. Apparently I have a small extra one. The dentist told me this is a common scenario with sharks, so at least I'm in good company.

Then the dentist told me that I have like a hundred million spots of decay in between my teeth.

And I found out that it will cost us our souls and our firstborn child to address the problem.

And I told him this couldn't be happening because I take such good care of my teeth.

And he shrugged and said I should try flossing twice a day instead of once a day.

Then he charged me a million dollars for a tiny piece of plastic that fits over my two front teeth and will prevent me from continuing in my well-beloved habit of insanely intense grinding in my sleep. This mouth guard doesn't extend over all the teeth, but just covers the upper incisors, with a small piece creating a gap between the upper and lower teeth. Now when I grind, all the pressure that would have been spread out over my entire jaw is pressed directly on my lower incisors, which apparently someone thought would be a good idea. The dentist claims the discomfort on my two lower teeth will teach me to stop grinding. I say if there were any rational response to discomfort involved in this I would have stopped grinding years ago, since it gives me a sore jaw and a headache to wake up to every morning.

Then the terrible appointment was finally over and I went out to my car and called my husband and promptly began bawling my eyes out. I think the conversation went something like this:

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I have a million places that are decaying between my teeth, I'm sorry, it's going to be expensive, I'm sorry, how can this be happening to me, I take good care of my teeth, why is everything always wrong with me no matter how hard I try to be healthy, why does everything always go wrong for me, but you're always healthy even thought you eat junk food and don't brush as long as I do and never floss, and I eat healthily but I'm the one with headaches and constant fatigue and I'm obese and I never feel good and now apparently I have a million spots rotting away in this hell hole of my mouth, I'm a terrible person, I'm so sorry, I'm like a dead weight chained to your ankle dragging you down in life..."

To which FavoriteBoy kindly replied, "You're not a dead weight! You're a live, kicking, writhing weight!"

(He always knows how to say the right thing!)

Later I called my Mommy and she suggested I get a second opinion, because apparently once upon a time my sister Emily was told by a dentist that she had 18 cavities! But when she went to our dentist back home he said there were actually only like two or something. FavoriteBoy agrees that a second opinion would be good. Now we just need to figure out who I should go to for this second opinion.

The rest of the day has been just terrible, because whenever I cry I reap some pretty nasty consequences: My eyelids get red and puffy and stay that way for at least 8 hours, I get a splitting headache, and my stomach gets upset for some reason. In short, I look dreadful and feel even worse.

All of this is pretty good incentive for me to avoid crying, but occasionally I forget, like when a dentist who vaguely reminds me of a homosexual Elmo tells me I'm practically dying of cavities.

What a wretched day.