The Dentist, Part I
5.2.6
I've spent entirely too much time in the dentist's chair recently...
It all started last year, when I decided to fix the giant abscess in my gums. The gumhole had been growing for years, but I had been without insurance until last August. Some minor surgery (and a couple hundred dollars) later, and the hole in my gums was gone. At the beginning of 2006, I was given an even better dental plan, so I decided to get everything else done.
I picked a dentist at random based on proximity to my apartment. The dentist ended up being Dr. Camillo DiLizia at a nearby "Comfort Dental."
I went in for my exam, and it turned out that I needed a fairly minimal amount of work. Basically, a deep cleaning was required to get under my gums, as well as a crown on my lower right molar. It was only going to take two visits.
Simple, right?
So, they got started that night. First off, was the deep cleaning (which was over relatively quickly). After that, they started on my temporary crown. Everything seemed to be going fine until I was left alone with one of the women who worked there.
She needed to take an impression of the molar. I opened my mouth and she inserted a mouthpiece that was filled with thick purple goo. I could taste it on the side of my tongue: Grape! This wouldn't be so bad! Eight minutes later she came back and removed the mouthpiece. She walked behind me and I fixed my gaze on the window in front of me.
Suddenly she came back into view. She was holding another mouthpiece of goo! I didn't understand...hadn't we just done this? "Open," she said, and I did. Without another word, she shoved it into my mouth. "Close," she said, and I did.
Another eight minutes went by. You never really realize how long eight minutes can feel until you're told not to move a part of your body for that long. Go on...try it: Don't move your fingers for the next eight minutes.
Finally, it was over. She returned and took out the mouthpiece, spilling some of the goo onto my face. Again, she went behind me, and again I stared out the window. I almost couldn't believe it when she returned with a third mouthful of goo.
"Am I doing something wrong?" I asked her sternly, as she attempted to shove the mouthpiece into my mouth again. I didn't actually think I was doing anything wrong. I only asked in order to alert her to my frustration.
"No," she replied, "I just need to get a good impression." She inserted the goo, spilling even more on my face in the process, and again left.
The goo tasted less like grapes now. It was now a sickly medicinal flavor. Even worse, the mixture had started to burn my face and tongue. I found it harder and harder to breathe with this concoction in my mouth. 4 minutes. 5 minutes. How long had it been? 6 minutes? 7 minutes? I couldn't take it much lo--"Alright."
She took the 3rd impression out of my mouth. I sat there nervous, as she examined it. Surely she must have gotten it right the third time?
"Bite down on this one again."
What? Again? Could I really bite down on the same one again? Could that work? I mean...I know I'm not a dentist or anything, but that just didn't seem like the best way to get an impression. I did it anyway. Anything was better than biting on that disgusting gel again. When it was done, she seemed pleased with the results.
She then went to work on placing a temporary crown. As she tinkered in my mouth, I couldn't help but notice an overgrown pimple near her right temple. I don't know why, but I couldn't stop staring at it. It was huge!
Once the temporary crown was on, she checked my bite and declared the work finished. Personally, it seemed like the crown was too high, but I just attributed that to the way new dental work always seems bigger than it actually is. Besides...these people were dentists. Surely they knew what they were doing.
A few days had passed, and I wasn't very happy. The temporary crown was hitting hard on every bite, sending it into a shockwave of pain. A sore had developed on my inner lip where they had injected the Novocain. I was already debating going back to the dentist, when the decision was made for me. I had bitten into a soft tuna sandwich when suddenly the temporary crown dislodged itself from my mouth.
I called them up, and was told to come in immediately.
They examined the temporary crown, and found that it was indeed too high (as I had suspected). In fact, they actually seemed surprised by how badly it had been done. They started asking me questions about the person who had made it. What did she look like? I didn't remember. Short hair, I think? Blondish-light? Eye-color? I don't know! I was too busy staring at...
Then it hit me. The pimple! "She had a pimple! Right here!" I pointed to my forehead. For a few moments they just stared at me, and I worried that I may have just made an ass of myself. Then one of them looked at the other and said:
"Oh! I know who he's talking about..." They went on to tell me that she was no longer working there. This surprised me a little, as I had only been there a few days prior.
In any case, they replaced the crown...this time going with a steel version. Before I left, I asked the dentist if I should be worried that my permanent crown would (like the temporary) be of poor quality. She told me that we wouldn't know the answer to that until it had arrived.
I walked out the door, but suddenly realized that I had forgotten to ask the dentist something. When I reentered, I saw her speaking with another dentist. Her back was turned towards me, and as I came closer I overheard her saying, "Yeah...she's the one that did that awful bridge on four."
Ah...so "The Pimple" had butchered more mouths than just mine. She was gone, though, so I would no longer have to worry about that...
The day of my second appointment finally came, and I received a call from their office. Apparently it wasn't necessary for me to come in because my permanent crown had not yet arrived. Unfortunately, I was now feeling some very painful sensitivity on the temporarily crowned tooth, so I decided to use my appointment anyways to find out what was wrong.
When I got there, I discovered that the permanent crown actually had arrived. The real problem was that (as I had feared) it was done incorrectly. In fact, the doctor even used the phrase "piece of crap" to describe the mangled crown. Comfort Dental had failed to make a good impression.
And so they went about the whole process again: More goo, another impression, and a third temporary crown.
A week later, the new permanent crown showed up. I went in, they put it on, and I vowed to stay the hell away from "Comfort Dental" forever.
Ultimately, that would prove to be more difficult than I thought...
To be continued...
