Just Call Me Fang

People sometimes compliment me on my smile, and I immediately clap my hand over my mouth, worried that they're being sarcastic. My teeth, at least the ones you can see, are all crowns, fake as Snooki's tan, acquired through a series of VERY unfortunate events all occurring in my mouth. My real teeth are problematic, underdeveloped things, prone to cavities and recipients of root canals, and basically the very bane of my existence. 

Ever have one of those dreams where your teeth fall out? I have that dream at LEAST once a week. To say my poor mouth is as traumatized as my broken brain would be very accurate. Both afflictions are not my fault, and both cause me serious irritation on a daily basis. 

I, like many many MANY others in this country, have no medical or dental insurance. I can't remember the last time I was at the dentist – I believe it was right after grad school which was in '06…that sounds about right. I had gone because whilst sitting in a meeting at the hospital where I had my internship, the crown on the triple-root-canal-ed dead as a doornail back left molar fell the hell out while I was trying to sound intellectual.

Hard to be taken seriously as a scholar when your teeth are falling the hell out of your face. 

Anyway, I never got that fixed, and when I returned to NJ months and months later, my jaw had shifted and the crown (which I had SAVED for all this time) wouldn't fit. I said I'd come back to have it fixed.

Yeah, that never happened.

Fast forward to last night. I take my new med and let it dissolve under my tongue as instructed. Then I rolled around in agony for ten minutes because that shit tastes like hot buttered ass. Then I did something stupid.

Yes. Very, very stupid. 

I ate a hard candy. A black cherry super duper sour Warhead, my favorite kind. And as I got the ridiculously awful taste out of my mouth, and reflected on the status of my brain (status was: very spinny, wheeeeeee) I bit down.

On the wrong side of my mouth.


So now the tooth, which before had a crater in it where the crown used to go, now has a crater AND a hairline fracture all the way up to the gumline. 

Like I said. Ow.

I get my Medicaid insurance in March, and hopefully then can get it taken care of. And by "taken care of" I mean YANKED THE HELL OUT OF MY MOUTH I WANT THE TOOTH OF DOOM GONE. Yank it. Pull it. Get it out of my mouth, give me two Percosets for the pain, and we'll all just pretend that my molar went to live on a farm somewhere. Until then, I'll be the one with "Chew On Your Right Side" written on my hand. 


Just Call Me Fang — 4 Comments

  1. Oh, crud. If I could afford to throw some cash your way right now, to help with a “getting that tooth the hell out of your mouth now before you can no longer eat” fund, I totally would.
    My questionable teeth sympathize. Especially the crowned pre-molar that the dentist said really needed more work… months ago.

  2. I found out two days ago that my one root-canal-ed and capped molar has a fracture, and should be removed and replaced with an implant. I’d love to give you words of wisdom and support, but I’m freaked out myself. I guess we just get a mutual agony of the teeth moment.

  3. OOWEE! Soul sista! We are sisters in tooth neglect… I don’t even want to discuss the neglected wasteland that is my mouth… a lovely olive pit took out my most recent decrepit decayed molar… oy! good luck with you…

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