Nothing but the tooth!

I've been waiting a long time to replace a front tooth. Mostly because dental services, like everything else, have become so expensive as to be almost prohibitive. The techniques have developed greatly, but so have the price tags. I was expecting to get an implant, and have been saving my dollars for almost a year - - the best laid plans . . .

When I was eighteen, my upper front tooth started to get a little dark. Turned out I had jarred it somewhere along the way and it had died. So I got a root canal and a crown. Dad paid for it (thanks, Dad!). That crown hung in there for twenty-five years, twice as long as it was expected to last, but then it became loose and it turned out the post and crown were coming out of what was left of the root. So then came one of those "I'm not sure this will work, but" conversations with an endodontist, who tried to install another post and crown. Two thousand bucks. They had to make another crown, of course. This wasn't quite as successful as the first. It became loose after about a year and after many re-cementing efforts at the dentist, I learned to glue it back myself, with crazy glue. You know that ain't good, but what the hell. I was poor by then, Dad and his wallet were long gone, and you gotta have a front tooth, right?

So two years ago, it broke off for good and couldn't be repaired. The options presented were to get an implant, a bridge, or a partial (aka "flipper" because it flips out of your mouth easily). No way could I afford an implant then, and I didn't like the idea that a bridge involved sanding down the perfectly healthy teeth on either side of the hole, so I scraped together the three hundred bucks and got a flipper, just in time to get a job or two and start saving for something more permanent and more expensive.

The flipper worked well (aside from making my gay lisp more pronounced) until the tooth broke off the palate piece in a freak hotel incident. I was in Beverly Hills attending a training for my new job, and was freaked out to be introduced toothless, so I ran out, bought a bottle of super glue bottle and managed to reattach the tooth, only slightly crooked. Ah well, looked more realistic that way. Crisis averted. Over the next year I developed quite the technique for reattaching the tooth, which had a tendency to snap off at embarrassing moments, like the time I projected it onto a restaurant menu while ordering dinner. I would sand off the old glue with an emory board, put the palate piece in my mouth, put glue on the tooth, and aim it for the hole. Sometimes I'd accidentally glue the tooth to my gums, but with a little prodding, re-sanding and re-gluing, it would work.

But finally the flipper was beyond repair, and that's when I started my nine-month period as a toothless man while I saved up for an implant. At first I was horribly uncomfortable, not smiling much. All the pictures taken of me during this period feature an unnatural grin, lips pressed together, quite moronic. Ah well. I thought often of taking three hundred and getting another flipper while I was saving for the implant, but that would just put me three hundred bucks further away from the permanent solution, so I grinned and beared it.

Then a month ago I had a consultation for the implant. Turned out I needed a bone graft (cadaver bone, in case you're wondering), in order to create a happy home for the big metal abuttment I needed to hold the new crown, to tune of $2K. And then I would wait six months. And if the coral reef did its job, implant the pier (another $2K), and six months later, attach a crown (you guessed it, another $2K).

So screw it. I had the stump of tooth taken out on Tuesday. My dentist is from Viet Nam, a dour woman who cannot speak English well, but is a deft surgeon (not the most comforting bedside manner, though). My hygienist is from Mexico and also cannot speak English well. I had to serve as translator between them, not easy when your mouth is full of fingers. When Dr. Thieu said, "Bye - bye!" I thought it was time to leave. Actually, she wanted me to bite. Ahh. The hygienist said to the dentist, "You want topical?" Dr. Thieu said a noncommital "Unn." I translated - "Yes!" When the big needle came swooping in to give me a shot directly in the middle of my palate, I flashed back to the Steve Martin - Bill Murray scene in Little Shop of Horrors. "Candy bar! Candy bar!" It was grisly.

I've spent a couple of days moaning and groaning, and early this morning I got my new flipper. Four hundred bucks, including removal of the stump. And I did the math - if a flipper lasts on average a year or so, I can put $40 a month into my tooth fairy account and always be ready to get another flipper whenever disaster strikes. Screw the big obnoxious attempts at some permanent solution. I'm almost 50 years old - time to put away dreams of permanency and cope with having to clandestinely remove my flipper before meals.

On my way home from the dental lab this morning, I stopped at my Starbuck's drive-thru and gave the baristo, Sam, a huge smile - "Hiiie, Sam! Iced venti coffee with cream and four Splendas, pleeeeeeeese!" I hope he noticed I have a tooth now. I hope I'm no longer the toothless fat guy in a green VW beetle who always orders an iced venti coffee with cream and four Splendas. I hope I'm now the relentlessly cheerful fat guy in a green VW Beetle who always orders an iced venti coffee with cream and four Splendas. It's a step up.

I plan to spend the day smiling into a mirror. As Sweeney Todd said when he was reunited with his faithful friend the razor, "At last - I AM COMPLETE!"