Crazy Crap Item #57: The part where I ponder the implications of toothlessness

Dear friends: All is not well in Daly mouthdom. Despite years of frenetic brushing, regular dental visits, and dungeon-of-horrors orthodonture, I approach mid-life with a mouth that is about to be declared a federal disaster area.

Why? Who's to say? In part, it's my pre-disposition for cavities, which left all my molars scarred with big silver fillings by the time I turned 12. And the recession of my gums, variously explained as a biproduct of braces, the result of too-vigorous brushing, and the sad outcome of chronic teethgrinding. My jaw-gnashing ways have also, apparently, cause cracking in nearly all my molars. And then, add to that the quack dentist who insisted on replacing all my old but perfectly servicable metal fillings with new resin ones -- at my expense, of course -- which resulted in the death of one tooth, a root canal and crown.

Anyhoo, the upshot is, my mouth and I are not friends. I mainline Sensodyne, and live in fear of yet one more bout of aching jaw and shooting pains.

But all this mayhem has led me to an interesting realization. That is, as unpleasant as dental work can be, the absolute worst part is not the drill or shots. Lately, I've had ample opportunity to ponder this fact. During my most recent check up, I was informed that one of my fillings --yes, one of my relatively brand-new resin fillings -- had failed. I needed ... another crown.

I'm a big girl. I can handle it. And by and large, it was unpleasant, but not excruciating. The dentist shot me with big needles. She poked and prodded. She drilled. She thrust applicators filled with nasty, ill-tasting goo onto my molars, and pressed down, forcing slimy-cold tendrils of molding plaster in and around my gumline.

But the only truly awful moment in the entire hour-and-a-half ordeal occured when the doctor stepped away from the chair. It was then I was left at my leisure to probe the mangled remains of my mouth.

I sat there, obsessively tonguing the sad little nub that was once my tooth, and it was then that I was struck with a frightening reality: I am going to die. Maybe not today, maybe not soon. But eventually, and irrevocably, dead. Each day I live, I'm wearing away just a bit more of my mortal coil. My skin will lose its luster. My chin will droop. And eventually, I will be just a pile of dust.

Would I like a free tooth brush? Samples of enamel whiteners? Sure, why not. It's all going the same place.