As I rounded out my lunch, I pulled an apple from my bag. I turned it over in my hand until I found the inevitable sticker. Even organic fruit gets stickers. This one proclaimed an origin of Yakima, Washington. Cameo apples aren’t my favorite, but then, my favorite local apples have been curtailed by drought and freezes for over a year. All the same, I was looking forward to that first bite.
But instead, I held the apple and eyed it suspiciously. With a resigned nod, I placed the fruit on the shelf above my desk, among my framed photos. “Best not,” I thought.
See, I went back to the dentist this morning. This makes the third visit in under a month. The first was a simple check-up, as many of you will remember. The outcome? I had no cavities. I was not admonished for my lack of flossing. And nobody suggested that I forsake my wisdom teeth. So much for my predictions.
Years ago, back when I was living in Sandy Springs, I had a root canal. Stop cringing. The procedure itself is not as bad as its reputation purports. Really. And the Percocet-dampened recovery was preferable surely to the concentrated tooth pain that necessitated the procedure in the first place. Basically, one of my front teeth became hyper-sensitive to air. Very. If I inhaled through my mouth, that tooth vibrated. Or buzzed. At least, that’s what it felt like. Whatever it was, it wasn’t fun.
What caused it the original problem? No idea. In most cases, the trigger is some kind of sharp physical trauma resulting in nerve damage or a loss of blood flow to the tooth. But in my case, I really can’t say. All I know is that the proposed solution was a root canal. And as I am not a dentist, I complied.
Ten years later, said tooth doesn’t seem nearly as strong as its neighbor. It doesn’t look quite like its neighbor, either. I’m far from looking like a gap-toothed Hatfield, but the lack of dental continuity merits concern.
So my return visit to the dentist last Monday, my second in the last few weeks, was to start a process called internal bleaching. This is one of those cases where the name of the process is really the only definition you need, but I’ll explain anyway. Basically, the dentist uses x-rays to see where the previous root canal was done — apparently, the earlier dentist did a very precise job — then uses a drill to reopen the channel in the tooth.
The weirdest part? No Novocaine. No shots at all. Because its unnecessary. For all intents and purposes, a root canal kills the tooth. So a dentist can drill and poke and prod with impunity. Of course, this is still a bit odd for the patient, because a drill is still a drill. That telltale noise? Still there, whirring away madly. And so remains the unsettling smoke that says “Hey, burnin’ tooth!”
But before long, the filling from the root canal was removed and replaced with a gummy peroxide solution. It has a very professional name, but I can’t remember it off-hand. Apparently, the fresher the goo, the better. This payload of bleaching stuff is sealed into the tooth with temporary filling material that hardens in seconds. This keeps the solution in place until the next appointment a week later.
I asked if there was any limitations on what I could eat and drink, because I was certain that coffee would be right out. Nope. No limitations. The bleach works from the inside out. Just be on the lookout, he said. In rare cases, the bleach works too well, leaving the patient with a tooth that is too white, much more-so than the other teeth.
So did it work? Mostly, yes, but not entirely. Apparently, my dentist thinks that a second week with a new batch of goo will bleach further up and into the “neck” of my tooth.
Teeth have necks. How about that?
The best thing about this? I’ve been able to go into meetings on Monday afternoons with the following phrase as my introduction: “Just so you all know, I had a filling this morning with no anesthesia, so keep that in mind as we discuss, shall we?”
Back to the apple. I imagine that I could bite into that Cameo with no ill effects. But then again, I can imagine even clearer how much of an idiot I’d feel like if I wasted these weeks of effort on a single chomp.
