Getting Crowned

It was a couple months ago, during dinner, that it happened. I bit down on a hard, round chicken bone instead of the soft, tender flesh I was expecting, and the jolt of the impact shot straight through my molar root into my jaw, and a sound like the crack of a whip echoed in my ears. It felt as though the tooth itself had shattered - but it had not. From that point forward, however, any pressure on the top of the tooth resulted in a spike of pain.

Since bi-annual dental appointment was rapidly approaching, I put off doing anything about it until then. No sense in scheduling extra appointments without warrant, and it wasn't causing me so much difficulty as to prevent eating.

My main concern was that the filling ('amalgam' being the technical term) might have become loosened enough to fall out, thus exposing the underlying sub-enamaled surface. Had that occurred, it would've been necessary to hie me to a dentist post-haste!

As it was, the tooth remained sensitive but not painful, allowing me a month or so of grace to prepare for the inevitable. For it was clear that something would need to be done.

And indeed, it was. On the day of the appointment, the regular cleaning was performed, and then we - the dentist and I - discussed the 'incident'. More X-rays were taken, but they revealed no obvious damage. It was possible that the underlying area was merely bruised, but the fact that the symptoms (sensitivity to pressure) had remained after more than two months pointed to more substantial injury. There were but two options to pursue: capping the tooth with a crown, or performing a root canal. Opting for the former, another appointment was scheduled for two days hence.

During that session, impressions were made of my mouth, novocaine was used to stifle my screams, the dentist made short work of my tooth with his little Dremel, shards of old tooth and amalgam filled the air (and fell into my unprotected eyes), more impressions were made of my mouth, a temporary crown was put into place, and I wobbled out the door a new man. Or at least a different man.

Unable to clear the debris from my eyes sufficiently to 'see' my way to work, I went home instead and lay down, rinsing my eyes with drops in an attempt to clear them, and took a nap.

My face, benumbed by the novocaine, took several more hours to return to normal operation. In the meantime, the house was filled with peace and quiet.