the continuing story of bungalow bill

The Beginning: The year is 2004. There is a tooth, the orthodontist informs me. An impacted tooth, swimming around in your bottom gum. We could take it out, but there is a 70-80% chance it will never bother you in your lifetime. Sounds good, we'll leave it in, my mother and I declare in unison, in much the same way characters in adventure novels speak in synchronization. We are, after all, the heroes of this story.

Five Years Later: There is a tooth, the new orthodontist informs me, except he is not informing me; I already have this knowledge. It is half a decade old. There is a tooth, the new orthodontist re-enlightens me. I would like to take it out. It might intend harm to your other teeth. I am alone, in a new land, without my mother to perfectly echo my words. But they are the same. I'll leave it in, thanks. His associate orthodontist does not like this answer. I would tell my own daughter to take it out, he adds a personal touch. No thanks, I insist. I'll take my chances.

Five Years and Three Months Later: Associate orthodontist waves a black and white image in front of my face. Do you see this? When the tooth is in this position it is 100% likely that there is already root damage we can't see on the x-ray. 100% likely? So there already is damage, I say. It's clearly malicious, he says. Its intents are not good. It will slowly destroy your other teeth like a deranged Don Juan. And your body will be old and unable to fight it off. It is the villain. As the hero, you must destroy it.

Five Years, Three Months and Two Weeks Later: I am brave. So brave. I decide to stay awake for the procedure. It's cheaper, and there are zero chances of death/grogginess from being put under. I set up the "Lord of the Rings" soundtrack on my ipod, because I don't have time to import my classical music onto it, but I want something wordless and soothing. As I settle into the chair and the dentist and his assistant loom over me, epic adventure LOTR music streams into my ears. This situation is much, much too surreal for me to handle, and I quickly take my ipod off the Lord of The Rings soundtrack and put it on shuffle. (Added bonus: now the soundtrack isn't ruined for me forever.)

37 minutes later: The ipod earphones have fallen out of my ears and I'm in too much of an apathetic, pain-induced delirium to fix this. I am greeted by an intense drilling noise, the noise of a powerful tool which, though I can't feel it, I know is inside of my gum, shattering my tooth.

The dentist starts making reassuring statements like, "This is more complicated than I thought," and "It looks like there's another tooth hiding back here. We didn't see that on the x-ray." He picks up an instrument. "Do we have this in a different size?" His helper tells him that, no, this is the smallest size.

I mumble something and they focus on me. "Are we almost done?" My words are unintelligible to my own ears, but these are professionals. "Yes, it's almost out." Liars.

My mental state is deteriorating. Psychologically, it doesn't help that there is no actual sharp pain; I'm still watching them stick nasty, loud instruments into my mouth. I'm still hearing the snapping of my tooth as it breaks into 20 pieces. And I'm feeling the pressure of the dentist grabbing my tooth (still attached to the bone) and trying to pull it out by force.

"It feels like you're breaking my jaw," the words are thick and cryptic.
"Your tooth?"
"No. My jaw. My jaw."
"Her jaw."
"Ohh." He laughs. "I won't."
But I'm serious. He is pulling so hard, and my jaw is killing me. I have a tiny little jaw. He can't possibly remember how small and weak it is. My thoughts become increasingly irrational.

"It says here that she has TMJ." I hear a faint voice in the background. Yes. Yes I do. And I'm starting to fear that my jaw will be permanently locked into the over-opened position it has been in for 37 minutes.

He starts digging around again, and suddenly I faintly feel the tool.
"Ow."
"You feel that?"
"Yes."
He grabs a shot, and shoots more nov into my gum.

"Do you want to be put to sleep?" he asks as I grimace.
I nod. Please.
"Okay, well there's just one more little, piece. Let me try and get it. And if I can't, we'll put you to sleep."
"Just leave it in."
"What?"
"Leave it in."
"But if I leave it in, you'll have to come back and get it out."
"I don't care."
He shares a laugh with his assistant over this.

And then it's out.
"We're done!" he announces proudly. This is good news. I've been ready for this.
And then he brings out a metal with a bit of string. Sutures time.


After it's all over, he says.
"You know that took a lot more time than I had thought. If I had known it would be this complicated, I would have put you to sleep." Thanks.

So, it turns out. I am not the hero. I am not an angel. I am just a man.