Floss on the Mill

Listen up kids: take care of your teeth.

First and foremost: make sure you have good genes. My mother had troublesome teeth. Lamented all of her lifetime that she had worn braces for twelve years to adjust her “lantern jaw,” which, in spite of the orthodontia, went with her to her grave and passed on to me. She had a close relationship with several dental professionals and was forever trying new appliances, methods and tortuous procedures. Yowch!

My father, on the other hand, up until his mid-nineties, had spectacular choppers. He had a dentist that made him come in once in a while just so he could to view the perfection.

Brush and floss, brush and floss: I have heard it a million times. And now and then I actually do both things. As a younger person, I had my share of cavities, but generally I have had average to good dental health. In spite of my uneventful history, my semiannual trips to the hygienist are a study in nervous tension. I’m always convinced that something ugly will be uncovered.

When I was much younger, my fear was so great that I avoided the dentist chair for years. When my wisdom teeth arrived, I was lucky that they grew in without incident. Even so, all four of them had to be yanked, and that experience involved such a combination of medications that by the time the dentist was done, he could have yanked out the rest for all I care. Charlie Sheen on a Saturday night had nothing on me.

As my hair and gum line recede, I have found a dentist who keeps me in line. They call me every six months to remind me of an impending cleaning. I always leave the place with a gleaming smile and an armload of free tooth care paraphernalia.

A few years back, they noted a loose molar, way in the back. The hygienist called in the dentist and he reached in and wiggled it. Over the ensuing six month intervals, they attempted a few procedures to save the tooth. Alas, about a year ago, I was told it should be yanked.

“You don’t have to do it right away,” the dentist explained, “but it’s going to have to come out.

I was in denial. Most of the time “old uncle Wiggly,” felt as firmly attached as all the others. Now and then, though, it would become shockingly loose. But, there was no pain, so I ignored the issue.

Finally, a couple of weeks ago, it became infected, painful and really wiggly. I supplemented my supplements with over-the-counter painkillers with some relief, but yesterday I called the dentist’s bluff. I rang the office and –wouldn’t you know – they had time for me this morning.

Nice fellow, my dentist. He poked me with Novocain, calmed my nerves, and after the right side of my face was numb, “lifted” the tooth. It didn’t make any champagne cork noises. There was no splattering carnage. The dentist didn’t have to put his knee on my chest for leverage. Best of all, I felt nothing except the sudden loss of a tooth that had been with me for over 40 years. I asked him to wrap it up in a piece of gauze and he was happy to oblige.

It sits, as I type this, in a bleach bath. After it’s cleaned up, I will put it in the same old Kodak Film canister with my wisdom teeth. God knows what kind of macabre art project I will create with this collection. I told the dentist I’d hold on to it and maybe if technology improves, he can put it back into my face in a few years.

I took today off to rest and catch up with a full DVR of mind-numbing television baloney. There is a hole in my head which I need like a hole in the head. The Novocain is beginning to wear off and a dull throb is filling the hole.

A few years ago, my father got dentures. It took him over 90 years to acquire them. His parents were in their 90s when they were fitted and I am thinking maybe if I save enough teeth, I can have dentures constructed of my own teeth.

Meanwhile I will brush and floss myself silly. Watch out Steve Buscemi!

Where’s the Advil?