So, I've had this tooth that has been sort of sensitive for a year or two. It's been x-rayed innumerable times, with no signs of anything wrong...I should have told my dentist to just numb me up and drill in there and see what was going on. But have I mentioned that I'm a chicken? So there we were, Mr. Pointy Sticks and I, having dinner at Bertucci's last Monday when I bit into a soft dinner roll and felt...something strange. Sort of as if my tooth had folded slightly. "Oh oh," I thought, "my tooth just broke!" (I've had three or four teeth break over the last four years. It's a familiar sort of feeling.) But, after gingerly feeling around with my tongue...everything seemed okay. But over the rest of the week, the tooth got sorer and the gum started getting puffy...and then yesterday, while eating my lunch of noodles, I felt a sort of "click" in that tooth...and suddenly realized that I could now wiggle it. Or rather, I could now wiggle half of it. "This," I thought, "is not good."
So I called my dentist and told him that I might need to see him next week.
And this morning at 8:30 a.m., the phone rings and it's my dentist's office. "Are you dressed?" asks Marcia. "No," I said, "I was just getting into the shower." "Come in your pajamas," she said. Well, I did take the time to get into some clothes but by 8:45 I was in the dentist chair and getting Novocaine. And then my dentist leaned in, took a look, and said, "Oh, sh........"
Turns out the tooth is split down the middle just like you'd split a log. It's going to have to come out (that happens Monday afternoon) and then my choice is an implant or a bridge. And, given my history of cracked and breaking teeth, my dentist suggests the latter. I keep thinking, "But old people have bridges!"
Man, I wish I'd gotten better tooth-genes. Mr. Pointy Sticks was saying, just the other day, that I have, over the years he's known me, taken much better care of my teeth than he has...and yet he has teeth in great condition. Sigh.