LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS
Fear. Dread. Hopelessness. Horror. These were all my feelings when the pandemic hit in 2020. I did not anticipate experiencing major dental work during this time would be the emotional healing I needed. You read that right: I found solace in my painful dental procedures. Not right away. It took me a year of reflection to realize that my cracked, irreparable tooth allowed me to process the overwhelming emotions of the pandemic.
The only public place I visited during the quarantine was the dentist. It made the dentist’s office seem less like a den of horrors and more like a social club. I was fortunate to have experienced mild COVID-19 symptoms, but the emotional toll of the quarantine- loneliness, fear, hopelessness, and horror- was far from gentle. I was so desperate for human interaction that my trips to the dentist were a treat. Let that sink in.
I had ignored a searing pain that jolted through my soul when I bit down on the left side of my mouth for about a year. It wasn’t every time. It wasn’t even when I was attempting to chew something extra crunchy. In fact, the final straw came when the piercing pain occurred when I was chewing on some mac n’ cheese. I had ignored it long enough, and the pandemic had freed up my time.
The severity of my situation dawned on me when my dentist told me he had to refer me to someone else. A tooth problem that the dentist couldn’t fix? So, I visited an endodontist, a fancy term for a root canal doctor, but it sounded like what Dr. Kevorkian specialized in. At the end of the uncomfortable procedure, he broke the news to me.
Kevorkian: Looks like a root canal isn’t working on this tooth. The crack goes too far down.
Me: So, what do I do?
Kevorkian: It looks like you will have to go to your dentist and get it pulled.
Me: Pulled?! Can you do it now since I am here and numb?
Kevorkian: (laughs) No (peasant). I don’t pull teeth.
I had hoped this was just a cavity. Then, I wished I just needed a root canal and crown. But, this had taken a worst-case scenario turn. How do dentists even pull permanent teeth? I had visions of my dentist tying my bottom molar with a string and slamming a door. I had images of me in the old west, taking a few shots of whiskey and having my tooth ripped out with rusty pliers. As I sat in the dentist’s chair, physically and mentally numb, I started to feel sad.
Losing this tooth was emotional for me. I felt like a failure. How hard is it to take care of your teeth? I let my mom and dad down. They spent thousands of dollars on braces for my teeth, and this is how I repay them? Why didn’t I go to see my dentist the first time I bit down and almost cried? The answer: I was afraid of pain. I hoped I could bury my head in the sand and the pain would miraculously disappear. Most of my aches and pains dissipated over time, but this one did not. Ignoring the first pain, I multiplied it: root canal, tooth pull, infected gum, post for fake tooth, tooth implant. I told my dentist that, other than childbirth, this was the most painful process I had been through. It made him feel horrible about himself, but I thought he deserved it.
I felt hideous. The toothless people I saw on TV were usually uneducated, penniless hobos. How could this middle-class college graduate join the hobo ranks? I was suddenly vain. Could people see the cavernous hole on the lower left every time I smiled and talked? Would I have to be serious and quiet for the remainder of my life to hide this shameful existence? I lived with the gaping hole for about eight months. I finally decided to bite the proverbial bullet and get the fake tooth. Now I know why the hobos didn’t do this: it is super expensive when you don’t have dental insurance. Pretty teeth are for the rich.
I felt old. My cracked tooth and the gaping hole in my mouth created an existential crisis. It represented my fleeting mortality. My extracted tooth reminded me that nothing is permanent, even if “permanent” is the adjective used to describe it. Losing the tooth seemed like the first domino to fall on my path to failing health. Losing a tooth happens to an 80-year-old after a lifetime of eating lots of toffee, popcorn, and taffy. But I was only 50 years old. I recall learning that the mouth is a snapshot of your overall health. Was my mouth foreshadowing my early demise?
The pandemic made me feel out of control, sad, scared and lonely. There was nothing concrete to blame for all my emotions. But my cracked tooth was something that I could touch. It had a specific location. I could feel it and name it. Mourning the loss of my tooth and all its associated pain helped me process some of the pain associated with a global pandemic. I buried my pandemic emotions in the sand, hoping they would disappear. I learned the only way to heal was to take a shot of whiskey and rip them out with rusty pliers.
