The Law of Extraction
ADB-160408#176
Haiku for a bad tooth
Now I understand
The full meaning of the phrase
“It’s like pulling teeth”
WARNING: This post contains graphic dental imagery.
Yesterday, I had my right mandibular third molar removed. But the word removed means taken away, which sounds too delicate for the procedure I went through.
Extricated is a far better word. It means to free from some constraint or difficulty. Now we’re talking. Now this experience can become symbolic.
The tooth had already broken, and part of the crown was missing, which allowed some really bad bacteria to move into the neighborhood and build a crack house in the lower-right side. And after almost a year of ignoring it and hoping it would go away, it got worse.
On my first trip to the dentist, they did X-rays and exploration. I asked if the X-rays were necessary and they said they needed to be able to see everything, especially small cavities. They recommended a filling, but first I would have to get a root canal. Then they charged me $200. I asked when they could do the root canal and how much it might cost.
Oh, we don’t do root canals. We’ll refer you to an endodontic specialist.
On my first trip to the endodontic specialist, they did X-rays and exploration. I asked if the X-rays were necessary and they said they needed to be able to see everything, especially a more detailed scan of the lower-right wisdom tooth. They recommended a root canal, but first I would have to get a few teeth extracted. Then they charged me $200. I asked when they could do the extraction and how much it might cost.
Oh, we don’t do extractions. We’ll refer you to a dental surgeon. But the root canal will cost about $1500.
On my first trip to the dental surgeon, they did X-rays and exploration. I asked if the X-rays were necessary and they said they needed a full 360 model to see everything, especially the nerves in the lower jaw. They recommended a tooth extraction in place of a root canal. Then they charged me $200. I asked when they could do the surgery and how much it might cost.
Oh, we can do the extraction on Thursday. You’ll have to decided on your method of sedation. We have local anesthetic, laughing gas, and conscious sedation. It will cost between $400 and $750.
When I asked what conscious sedation was, they described it like a drunken black-out without the hangover: I’d be awake, but I wouldn’t make much sense, and I wouldn’t remember anything the next day. I would also need someone to take me home safely. The gave me a check-list:
- pillow
- blanket
- trash can lined with a plastic bag (for puking in)
- kleenex (for wiping up drool)
On the day of the procedure, I went for a long walk across the city. I thought about all the difficult things I’d done and been through in my life. I realized that the worst things stemmed from not being fully conscious, not being self-aware and mindful.
I imagined that my rotten tooth embodied all the shit I’ve been through recently. It represented the stress and disillusionment of work. It represented all of my failures as a father and partner. It represented my former health issues, my old relationship woes, my struggles, my feelings of isolation and otherness, my inability to feel complete and at ease. It represented all my pain and sorrows and bitterness and anger and frustrations and desperation. I put so much pressure on this tooth, so much responsibility, that I’m surprised it didn’t leap out of my mouth and flee down the street of its own accord.
When I got to the dentist, I was beaming. I made a conscious decision to face this challenge fully conscious, regardless of my fears. I was going to enjoy this.
After four shots of local anesthetic, I could feel no pain. I couldn’t feel much of anything in my mouth—just a puffy, vague sense of place and pressure.
“Is it normal that my right eye is getting droopy?” I asked.
The assistant let me hold and control the little suction tube while the freezing set in. Then the doctor arrived, the dental surgeon, and did some tests to put me at ease. He poked my gums to reassure me that I wouldn’t feel pain. He then picked up a huge metal clamp and attached it to the crown of my cursed molar.
You know that feeling when you need to loosen a nut with a monkey wrench, but it’s rusty and impossibly stuck, and you have to put all of your weight into it, knowing that it’s probably not going to budge, but that you might slip and tear open your knuckles on the brick wall behind it, but then the nut cracks instead and the bold is stripped and you need to get out extra pliers and drills and just destroy the entire thing just to get it free? It’s kind of like that, but worse because it’s inside your head.
The surgeon talked to me the entire time. He told me what was happening and what might happen. When brown smoke billowed out of my mouth from the drilling, he said that was expected. When the top of the tooth broke off with a thick, plastic CRACK! he said, “There goes the crown.” When a stubborn root imploded under pressure, ricocheting off of the assistant and scattering about the room like shrapnel, he said, “This tooth has very good rooting.”
He and the assistant watched my every move, and expression. When I clenched my fist, they asked if I wanted to take a break. When I winced they made sure I wasn’t feeling pain. It was the best dental care I’ve ever had, under the most extreme dental circumstances I’ve ever been through.
In less than an hour it was over and I was shaking the surgeon’s hand. “That was the toughest extraction I’ve done this month,” he said. “When the freezing comes out, it’s going to feel like you were kicked in the face a few times.”
They had to take one more X-ray for good measure, to make certain there weren’t any bone fragments left behind. This one was on the house.
Later, as my mouth began to thaw and my jaw began to ache, I smiled. I felt exactly one tooth lighter.
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