I kind of have caveman sensibilities when it comes to tooth care.  In my worldview, if my tooth hurts, I would rather someone hit me over the head with a rock and pull out my offending bone chunk while I was unconscious than go to the dentist.  Maybe that explains why it has been 6 years since my last visit.

I know everyone hates going to the dentist, but I think I am really putting my money where my mouth is, because I am hoping copper is some sort of cleaning agent.  In case you are having the type of day where you wanted to hear in deep detail my adventures in oral hygiene, well you are in luck.

It all started with some receding gums, which is strange because I am not 80.  But at 22 my gums were falling out of my face.  So the dentist suggested I get a skin graft to fix the problem.  Basically this meant they would cut a hole in the roof of my mouth, take that flappy skin, and then sew it across the gums on my bottom teeth where the problem was.  I don’t think my dentist was a sadistic serial killer, but you can’t be sure about these things.

So I went into the office one fateful day and came out with stiches all along with roof of my mouth and the front bottom.  I am not sure if you have ever had a mouth full of stiches, but it is as pleasant as sucking on a sea urchin for 2-weeks.  I couldn’t eat anything, I talked like Barbara Walters, and my only solace was the fun little addiction to pain killers I was cultivating.  While I was waiting for this torture to heal, a giant blood filled scab was forming on the top of my mouth.  It felt like a slug, and according to the dentist office called a “snuff,” and was the largest they had ever seen… although I had no interest in filming porn, and did not think this to be an accomplishment.

Of course when you have festering blood packet on the roof of your mouth you are going to touch it with your tongue.  Constantly.  Just prodding it around.  Until one day, you swallow the entire thing while trying to eat some refried beans and life will never quite be the same.

Soooooooo when I finally went to get these stiches out of my mouth, I hadn’t eaten solid food for 17 days and instead survived on a diet of alcohol and codeine.  The immense pain that was caused by ripping each black piece of string out, brought me to a whole new place of nausea and malaise.  I was so out of it, that when I finally got home and was fumbling around trying to find the keys to my apartment… I shat my pants.  Right there in the hallway.

Okay, so needless to say, I did not go back to the dentist for a few years.  Then at 26, I started to have some pain, so figured maybe I should have someone investigate the cause.  When I got there, for some reason they gave me laughing gas right away.  Maybe because I seemed excessively freaked out, or maybe I looked like I was ready to party? Then they said:

“Toni, you know, we could take all four of these wisdom teeth out if you would like?”

“Yeah Doc… sure… could you take out my intestines too? I feel like that would make my waistline thinner.”

Yeah, so I left the dentist with four holes in my mouth and a $10,000 bill because all my freaking wisdom teeth were gone!!!!!!!!

The only person who ever treated me right at the dentist was my hygienist who had the decency to tell me stories about her love life while she scraped and poked at me.  And because I now live 200 miles from this angel of mercy, I really don’t think there is a point to the dentist anymore.  What is a cavity but a small hole in your tooth? It’s just a hole? It is not like I have to plug up every hole I have.  I am not that kind of girl.

“Does that mean that I never have to go to the dentist too Mamma??”