Do you hate going to the dentist?

I often hear people complain how much they hate going to the dentist. When asked why, their answer usually suprises me. I expect to hear a horror story of a mad, tooth-yanking dentist with wild eyes and a crazed look. Usually I hear, "I don't like someone having their hands in my mouth," or "I hate it when he scrapes the plaque off my teeth."

Normally I don't mind going to the dentist. Running my tongue over perfectly polished teeth gives me a thrill. But at my most recent dental visit, I fought off tears throughout. Several times the doctor's assistant patted my shoulder in her attempt to comfort me. The funny thing is, I LIKE this dentist.

I don't have a harrowing story to recollect for you, at least not outside of my own imagination.

After this particular visit, I climbed into my car. I told myself "this isn't a big deal, why the tears and emotion?" I found the answer in an old familiar sadness, perched atop my heart. I recognized the message it was transmitting: Forever Changed, never the same. It was as if I'd just received the permanent stamp marked "defective."

Even my beloved dentist had said more than once during this visit, "I wish I had a magic wand to wave, that would take you back to before you had this dental work done. But I don't." I had so hoped he could work a miracle, & change what another dentist had done. But his words told me know he didn't possess that kind of power.

What brought about this wish to go back to before? A crown. Plain and simple, only it wasn't. I suppose I was naive about the true definition of "crown." It actually sounds a bit glorified. I imagined a crowning bit of gold atop my tooth, raising it to the status of royalty. A crowned king. The dentist never explained that to crown my tooth he would attack it with mighty power tools. He would grind it down to a mere nub, cover it up with an imposter tooth causing excruciating, unending pain. Then he would declare it call it a king, er, crown. And that is what he did.

My life isn't the same. I don't like the change. I want my old tooth back. The one that emerged 44 years ago. I've experienced this before.

I remember having the same painful desires from November, 1971. I woke up that cold morning, hoping it had all been a dream. The night before, my siblings and I had created a slick ice slide. Outside our back door stood a long ramp leading to the back yard. Originally built to accomodate a wheelchair, it became a form of amusement to the four of us. We were fascinated to find that a glass of water, when spilled at the top, would freeze before reaching the bottom. We tried larger cups of water. To our amazement, no matter how much water we poured, it froze fast to the cement. We began using buckets. Before long, we had our very own tilted ice rink.

Two at a time, we raced to the bottom of the ramp. This continued until we were shivering cold. My competitive brother challenged me to one final race. Just wanting to go indoors and get warm, I reluctantly agreed.

"On your mark. Get set. Go!"

Down we went. Realizing he was about to lose, Greg swung his arms forward. Using me as a spring board, he shoved ahead to win. My feet slipped beneath me and I fell face forward, leaving my 2 front teeth broken off & stuck in the ice.

An emergency trip to the dentist left me with 2 new teeth. Nobody called them crowns, and they weren't made of gold. When I looked in the mirror the next morning all I saw were shiny silver teeth.


I wanted my old teeth back. The ones I'd had before. I wore sadness. Life would never the be the same. Marked with "forever changed/defective," my smile was stamped shiny and metallic. Forever was 10 long years.

My teeth now sport white fronts, but the silver backs remind me that they are unnatural. The pain of my crowned tooth speaks the same. I want my old tooth back.

I've joined the group that hates going to the dentist.