An (Literal) Oral History: I Hate My Teeth and So Should You!
“Is it possible to just knock ’em all out and call it a day?”
“Yeah…but that would cause even more pain and cost even more money.”
“Well, shit.”
This was the conversation I had with my dentist a few weeks ago. It may sound like just some morbid banter between myself and my dentist (whose name is Dr. Panec, for realsies), but it was, in all honesty, how I felt and still feel about my teeth.
I hate them. I may have a great smile in my profile photo above (big thanks to Allan Ishac for your props), but these chompers have caused me a great deal of pain and anguish in my nearly quarter-century on this planet.
Let’s take a trip down memory lane to determine why (with help from the lovely April Ludgate and her wide range of emotions in GIPHY form)!
The First Accident, September 2002: Tooth #1.1
As much as I try to fight it, I am a tried-and-true procrastinator, which also means I am chronically late to all events, dates, appointments, etc. I have tried to remedy this over time, but nine-year-old me (and even present me, let’s be honest) likes sleep way more than actually getting anywhere on time.
On this particular autumn day, I woke up at 7:50 AM, grabbed my new orange and blue backpack my dad had brought me home the evening before, stuffed it full of my textbooks, and rushed to school. We only lived four doors down from the local elementary school, so this morning rush was pretty routine and well-versed in my teensy brain. However, I had never used the backpack before — let alone a backpack full of heavy textbooks—and that was the downfall of my journey.
Halfway to school, I tripped on a rock and landed facedown on the pavement. My left front teeth had been chipped, and I ran back home in a fit of tears to my horrified mother.
Luckily, Dr. Panec was able to see me, slap some composite on that sucker, and send me on my way (with a firm warning to not eat with that tooth). Being nine-years-old, I thought everything would be a-okay from then on out, as long as I continued with my routine and stopped tripping on rocks.
The Second Accident, July 2003: Tooth #1.2
Summer camp was one of my favorite parts of childhood. I attended the same one for nine years (ayyyyy), participating in everything from swimming to soccer to basketball to dodgeball to the camp newspaper to baking to movie-watching. It was a time for little me (still was for adult me, as I went back to work there for 3 years during college).
Anyhow, one of our classes, Field Games, basically did a different sport every day. On this day, our counselor Robert decided that we should break out the floor scooters and just let loose in the gym (he was a great counselor, but sometimes needed a break from all the screaming girls, which is understandable). For some reason, one of my camp friends and I had the bright idea to lie stomach-down on these scooters and roll over the soft foam balls we used for dodgeball.
You can almost guess what happened next.
My left tooth chipped again, and I, being so scarred from this happening once more, laid on the floor facedown screaming and crying. After running to the bathroom to see the damage, Robert asked me to take a picture of the tooth—because a hurt 9-year-old girl screaming and crying is definitely comedic material. Still have that picture somewhere.
Much like the first fix, Dr. Panec again patched up my tooth, and told me to keep being safe.
The Third Accident, May 2011: Third Time’s a Freakin’ Charm
As you can probably already tell, I was a mess as a child. However, after the second accident, I was as careful as I could be. I had one set of braces in fifth grade, got speech therapy for a lisp from sixth to eighth grade, got a second set of braces from tenth to eleventh grade, and finally thought I was in the clear for college as a normal, semi-functioning person.
My teeth, however, had other plans.
In May 2011 — a week before senior prom and a month before graduation—I was riding my bike home from school around 6 PM. My tote bag had slid down my arm, so I was trying to grab it while still balancing on the bike, and once I got it back on my shoulder, I saw the garbage bin.
About a minute later, I woke up face down in the bike lane, in shock, and realized that I had knocked out three of my teeth. That’s right, not chipped, knocked ’em clean out. My two front teeth and one of my lateral incisors were somewhere in the road. People in traffic pulled over the help me, a classmate and her dad called my mom, and an ambulance came to take me to the hospital to ensure I hadn’t had a concussion.
For the next six weeks, my three composited teeth were wired into my gum line (which made all of those gross high school memories even more fun to photograph). Eventually, the Teeth Team — my dentist, oral surgeon, and orthodontist—had me looking semi-normal for the start of college in a few months, but confirmed that we would have to monitor the teeth even more extensively for future implants.
August 2016 to March 2017
My composited teeth had mostly held up for five years — from acne-ridden, greasy-haired 18-year-old me to slightly more adult-ish 23-year-old me. Initially, the fakes were more prone to coffee stains and tea stains, but my continued attempts to be an adult has allowed for them to look fairly normal and real (yeah, those ones in my profile photo? Fake).
In August of last year, I got the news from my dentist that it would soon be time to start the implant process. Because my teeth aren’t really teeth, this process would first start with braces to pull down bone graft.
As someone who already had braces twice, I was very against getting them again —especially with my former orthodontist. Luckily, Dr. Panec set me up with two new orthodontists, who confirmed that we would be able to use Invisalign. Still not a first choice, obviously, but better than the metal.
After going between all three members of the Teeth Team to get the process started—since I only have dental insurance through work and won’t when I leave for graduate school in a few months—I finally got the Invisalign in early January 2017. Sure, they were not great—and a few former male suitors commented on them in an unsatisfactory way—but they were going to help in the long run of getting some permanent teeth up in here.
At least, that was the plan.
A few weeks ago, I ended up getting an infection in my gumline from stress, not brushing as much…who knows, but it was my second mouth infection where the composited teeth were since originally getting the Invisalign. Upon examination by Dr. Panec, I was then tasked with cleaning out the area with hydrogen peroxide three times a day. It kind of looked like this.
After a week of cleaning the site, taking antibiotics, and generally having a not-great time, I went back to for a follow-up.
The site still hadn’t healed, so plans were changed.
It was time to get these f**kers out.
March 30th to Now and Beyond
On Thursday, March 30th, 2017, at 7 AM, I went to my oral surgeon for an emergency oral surgery. I woke up two hours later with two of my three composited teeth out, and the implant sites drilled in.
For the next few days, I tried to ease my pain with my continued antibiotics, prescribed painkillers, super soft foods (yum rice pudding), and binge-watching Parks and Recreation on Netflix.
Since Monday, I’ve been back at work (and not as hideous as I had anticipated, thank god), but still in pain and still getting used to my lack of teeth as well as my new retainer with fake teeth (gotta look somewhat normal in the real world).
In four to six months, I will get my implants put in and officially be done with this whole process, which has cost way too much money, pain, and sanity for myself and my family.
In the meantime, all I can say to my teeth can be summed up by one final gif below (god bless Aubrey Plaza, for real):
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Hope you enjoyed this article! I won’t be knocking out any teeth for you for future comedic relief, but you can check out my other articles here.
