Misery's story starts sometime in 2008. After years (about 5) of neglecting to go to the dentist, I was convinced by my soon-to-be wife that a routine cleaning and check-up was necessary. I began making excuses, but as usual Christine won in the end. Christine had been going to a dentist in Seattle, and she set me up with an appointment. Mr. Dentist seemed like a nice enough old chap, but apparently he was also a quack. After my routine cleaning, he decided that although I did not have a cavity, I had one "coming in" and so he wanted to do a "preemptive" filling.
Turns out this is dentist talk for "you don't have anything wrong with you but I've got bills to pay kid."
So I returned to Senor Dentist, confident in his abilities as a dental professional and his foresight of my dental health. The filling seemed to go ok, but the dentist didn't give me enough anesthetic and then didn't believe I was in pain when I kept jerking around. He just kept saying "that's weird" over and over again. I should have taken this as a sign, but with my dental history I took it as par for the course.
Misery's tale should have ended there. She could have lived a long life as a happy, productive tooth; a life full of chewing things and being brushed and so on. But, like I said earlier, turns out Mr. Dentist was a quack.
Let's fast forward to late 2009.
I begin to notice that Misery is a little sensitive to cold things but I brush it off as "getting older." I seem to be doing that quite a bit these days. Within several days, the tooth is really starting to feel sore. By Saturday of that week I experience the first toothache I can ever remember having.
Now let me stop the story briefly to talk about my pain threshold. I believe that I am fairly normal in the tolerance of pain area: I don't like it, but I can deal with it to a certain extent. However, when it comes to my teeth I am a gigantic pansy. After I go to the dentist I am sore for days, because I spend the entire time in panic-mode: wild-eyed, muscles clenched, ready to leap from the chair if the dentist tries to kill me.
To anyone else, my toothache may not have been that bad, but to me it resulted in spending the entire night pacing back and forth in the kitchen going "oh crap, oh crap, oh crap."
In truth, I may have said things other than "crap."
I spent that night trying to find ways to make the pain go away and discovering that the emergency room at Palo Alto Hospital will do nothing for things dental related. Thankfully I called instead of driving there. After taking enough Advil to knock about 10 years off my liver, I spent the rest of the night looking for dentists on Yelp. I found one nearby and called them the next day.
I finally got to the dentist that Monday. She informed me that the "preemptive filling" which I had done in Seattle, "probably" shouldn't have been done. I believe that this was her way of saying "whoever did this was a quack, but I refuse to say anything more specific in case you fly back to Seattle, break the quack's hands and he tries to sue me."
The preemptive filling was apparently too close to the nerve of the tooth or something like that. At this point I was more thinking about whether or not I would have to beg for prescription pain medication than her explanations, but I did understand that the nerve had become infected and exploded and that is what was causing the pain. So I needed a root canal.
Misery was starting to earn her name.
I soon discovered that Misery is tooth #16 (way in the back on the left side). Due to it's location and it's streak of bad luck, I could not go to the dentist for the root canal, I had to go to an endodontist instead. Thankfully, the dentist gave me a prescription for the good stuff because the earliest time the endodontist could get me in was several days away.
My root canal took 2 and a half hours. Twice. The first time the endodontist quit because her hands were tired. Her hands were tired because instead of doing the root canal with a drill, she had to use what look like little pipe cleaners to bore out Misery's roots.
For two and a half hours. Twice.
Thankfully I was kept well medicated this entire time so the experience was not as bad as it could have been. My root canal was finally done and I had some sort of temporary cap on my tooth.
So last week I went back to the dentist to get fitted for a new crown. The dentist made some sort of metal bracket and attached it somehow and then the dental hygienist made another temporary cap while the real crown was being made in a lab somewhere. It took the dental hygienist 4 tries to make a good temporary cap, and I firmly believe that this was just to torture me. After the third attempt I wanted to stop her and ask "mind if I take a crack at it?" She finally got it and I was out the door.
Misery's tale has finally come full circle. I returned to the dentist on Monday with renewed hope. Hope that my stupid tooth would finally be fixed. It has cost over a thousand dollars and has probably caused at least that many curses. Alas, Misery had to dash my hopes one last time.
The new crown didn't fit.
Every time I closed my mouth, my cheek would get caught between my back teeth. So the dentist spent sometime grinding away at it with some sort of drill and then putting it back in my mouth, making me bite my cheek, and repeating the whole process again.
During the grinding process the dentist had a coughing fit and I thought to myself, "Yes, yes. Choke on my tooth dust devil woman."
There is a lesson in all of this and that lesson is this: unless your teeth hurt, don't go to the dentist.



