A couple of months ago, I made the terrible mistake of biting into a hardened piece of chocolate. It was a Lindor Truffle, one of those chocolate balls that I had put into the fridge because they’d melted. Now I’ve had terrible teeth my whole life, so both of my front top teeth, numbers 8 and 9 according to the dentist’s chart, are root-canaled crowns. I’ve been super careful with these replacements, never biting into a crisp apple frontways like so many people do without a second thought. But the chocolate momentarily fooled me, and now this is what I look like.
That is indeed me and my mouth and teeth, one of the uglier selfies you’ll find on the internet. O, cavernous darkness! Not only is it ghastly, but at the present, pronouncing Fs and Vs is an extra airy affair. I had hoped the dentist could replace the broken crown, but I’d snapped it too close to the gumline and the best option was the dreaded implant, one of which I already have on an upper molar. I’m well aware that months must pass before an implant can be placed: extraction, bone graft, screw, abutment, crown. It’s an incredibly mechanical process, one that near the end involves a literal torque wrench turning in one’s mouth.
Of course, I’m also incredibly lucky that I can afford one. Implants are expensive even with decent insurance, running anywhere between three and five thousand dollars. Which is why, now that I’m interacting with the world at large with a windy gap, I’ve noticed something interesting. The state of one’s teeth is like a billboard of one’s financial status. Perhaps I’m being overly sensitive right now, but I swear, most people I’m talking to, like the hotel concierge or the checkout person at the drugstore, are treating me kinder, taking some small measure of pity on me as if I’m a street urchin in need of support. Not only that, I have even found immediate kinship with the dentally distressed! At my neighborhood Home Depot a few days ago, the snaggle-toothed guy in lumber helping me was happy to flash me a smile, and I was just as happy to flash one back.
In a week, the pontic retainer my dentist fashioned will give me back my regular look for the next four months, so my membership to this club will come to an end. The retainer is dentures in reverse: I’ll need to take it out to eat. An inconvenience, but I have nothing but appreciation for modern dentistry. A hundred years ago, I’d probably already be wearing ivory teeth — if I could afford them.
I am wincing in sympathy. I've been lucky enough not to have had many dental problems, but my partner has had her share of dental trauma, and it's distressing to witness.
Oh my friend! The lovely gap tooth will allow more of your words to flow, if not from the mouth then on the page. Tooth be told, I think your teeth look smashing.