I learned two important lessons this week. Dentists don't work on Fridays but they do work on Saturdays. On Tuesday my dentist gave me a temporary tooth on my implant. This was a glorious day; no more would I suffer the temporary denture. No more scratches inside my mouth. No more inability to say "s" and "t". It was like a dream.
The dream ended on Friday when I was eating a sandwich and the temporary tooth came loose. I was lucky to be home during my lunch hour. There was no need to panic, I thought. I'll just call my dentist and he will glue it back on. I call the dentist and receive a recording letting me know they close at noon on Fridays. Dang. I call another dentist's office. Closed. I call a few more in my area. All closed. I call all dentist offices within 25 miles. Most were closed. The open offices did not accept "walk-ins". Necessity being the mother of shoddy workmanship, I shoved the temporary tooth into my mouth, hid in my office, and hoped for the best.
The loss of the temporary tooth was not just embarrassing because I was missing a tooth. There was also the danger it would fly out of my mouth. Plus, the implant sticking out of my gums was caked with glue. It was an ugly sight. Consequently, I prepared myself for a weekend of staying at home and hiding my disfigured tooth from the world. Besides, it was snowing. Then, a post Christmas miracle occurred: my dentist called me.
I had already considered my dentist to be a great man. But there he was on a Saturday, in the snow, opening his office just for me. He then proceeded to make a temporary tooth three times as strong. I know is stronger because it is three times as big. It is also shorter than my real teeth, as indicated in the above picture. I didn't ask why but I now assume it has something to do with preventing me from destroying it while eating sandwiches. As a last act of greatness, my dentist gave me something I will always cherish, his home phone number.
Huzaa to my dentist!
Tagged: personal stories