I’ve spent a lot of money on my mouth. Braces, bonding, cleaning, fillings… you name it, I’ve paid some lab-coated monster to torture me with it, all in the name of undoing the defects that have kept me out of those Crest ads the past 25 years. It’s a combination of being a premature baby and my mother’s English heritage. I remind her of this every six months, when it’s time to get my chewers cleaned and a month later when it’s time to get the inevitable cavities filled or fillings replaced.
No matter how often I brush, floss, gargle, and pray, I always have some filling going bad or some cavity or something that requires them to jab me in the mouth. No exceptions. I have what my dentist, Dr. Mengele, calls weak enamel. I pop out fillings from normal wear and tear, and when I had braces, they used to pop loose (or threaten to) every time I went in to get my wires tightened. Hopefully it’s all worth it.
This is my second dentist trip this week. The pain from my latest filling replacement, and the minute-long injection of Novocain into my jawbone (the very back left tooth, damn it), is surprisingly strong. Even after the three Tylenol and a brief nap.
But hey, it could always be worse. I could’ve broken a tooth. Ouch!