Queenie Is Uncrowned … Temporarily
This saga begins over thirty years ago in a dentist’s chair in Glendale, Arizona. I (a very young, thin AZW) sat open-mouthed while Dr. M. pounded on my right, bottom, back molar with a rubber mallet - yes, a damn mallet. He explained that the pounding was necessary to ”seat” my new crown. I didn’t want this crown seated in my mouth like a diner in a restaurant. I wanted it glued to my tooth - or should I say what was left of my tooth. Dr. M. had spent over an hour the week before grinding and blasting my tooth until only a stump remained. I can remember him saying, “I sure hope there’s enough tooth left to “seat the crown.” I agonized over whether or not to say something like, “If your worried, why the hell did you just finish reducing this tooth to a mere shadow of it’s former glory. Anyway, I left the office hurting and wondering how I would pay the $265.00 he charged me. (I ended up with a payment plan - $25.00 each month.)
For the next 15 or so years, my tooth (I named it Queenie) lived a very enjoyable tooth life. She loved her daily flossing - just like a good back scratch. She wasn’t crazy about her swims in Listerine, but tolerated it twice each day. Then, one morning I awakened to the most horrendous clanging pain imaginable. I was convinced I was having some kind of life ending situation. When I looked in the mirror and a woman with a grotesquely distorted face stared back, I knew a root canal was in my future.
The procedure went well … except Dr. G. (an endodontist) was unable to access one canal. Did this guy go to dental school or not? After spending two hours in my mouth with a jackhammer and chain saw, I just couldn’t understand how he could possibly have missed something as big as a canal. Boats drive in canals, for cryin’ out loud. (The past sentence was an attempt at dental humor.) But at least Queenie was able to maintain her composure for several more years.
This past summer I started going to a new dentist. Dr. B. is a wonderful person who radiates kindness. His office staff is also wonderful. They leave no stone unturned in making their patients feel comfortable. After looking at my x rays, Dr. B. suggested that it might be time to have Queenie probed again by a dental prospector who would not abandon his quest until the ghostly canal could be found. Apparently there was a shadow under Queenie’s root that he found troubling.
At this point I made a near fatal error. I chose to go back to the office of the endodontist who first sailed upon Queenie’s canals all those years ago. BIG MISTAKE !!! I drew the new guy in the office. At first I felt great about my decision, but my euphoria soon changed to despondency. After 672 shots of Novocaine, 908,328 stitches, and chunks of tooth and brain tissue flying every where, he announced that he had indeed opened the elusive canal and removed the demons that resided there. This was just the beginning. Three infections, and millions of antibiotics later, I headed back to kind Dr. B. I was sure he would tell me it was time that Queenie be allowed to go to her Great Reward in tooth heaven. I was shocked when he gently said that he could save my little buddy, but Queenie would need a new crown.
The outside of Queenie’s old crown.
The repulsive, disgusting inside of Queenie’s old crown.
Dr, B. was wonderful during the removal procedure. He carefully explained each step of the process. And he didn’t even gasp or fall over when noxious gases filled my mouth as the old crown came off. Queenie is now wearing a temporary crown - no jewels. When she is re-crowned with the real deal, perhaps I’ll photograph the ceremony.
drivers tag Says:
You still write on here! Thanks