Bad Advice

A Very Bad Idea.

What in the hell possessed me to watch BBC America's "Britain's Worst Teeth"? Maybe I thought seeing the worst mouths in the UK would make me feel less bad about my own horrid choppers? (It didn't.) Honestly, I don't know why I put myself through that. But I got halfway through the program—and nobody does bad teeth like the Brits—and the boyfriend yelled at me to turn it off. Apparently I was sitting there, glued to the set, eyes wide open, with my hand clasped firmly across my mouth.

One girl was left with only nubs for teeth due to a teenage bout with bulimia (the acid rots away the enamel). A brother and sister had mangled, MacGowan-like mouths that caused them to live like hermits—both were petrified of dentists and had to be hypnotized before they'd even consider going. Another woman ate piles of sugar every day, which had rotted her teeth to the point where she couldn't even get laid. It was horrifying. The show set each of them up with cosmetic dentists, but I had to turn it off, so I don't know what happened in the end. I hope they all got their teeth fixed—damn, I wish a TV show would pay to fix my teeth. Maybe they can do a sequel—"Brooklyn's Worst Teeth?"

In other news, my Seattle column about stalking is up online.

An Option I'd Never Considered. . . .

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know that I have some serious dental problems. In fact, just this morning I was trying to figure out how I'm going to afford my next $1800.00 bone graft. And that's not even the half of it. Hell, not even the 1/16 of it.

Anyway, my friend Travis knows my situation and sent along a very pertinent article from BB Gun magazine. Apparently Lubricated Goat's Stu Spasm is in a similar boat to mine (and has also suffered at the hands of NYU dental) but has come up with a DIY solution to his dental woes:

Yes, my friends, I make my own teeth, or more precisely I cap my own teeth. If my teeth rot and fall out completely, then I will make my own teeth! Dentists are one of the most over-priced medical services. The second to last time I went (10 years ago), they said I needed a root canal. Before dealing with that, however, they cleaned my teeth in 4 sittings, this cost $2000! I never did get the root canal.

Unlike Stu, I've had root canals. I don't even know how many thousands I've handed over to dentists and periodontists and frankly, I don't want to count. However, I don't think I'll be making my own teeth anytime soon. I'll leave you with this:

From a block of ivory-coloured Sculpey Three (if you are from England you may wish to add a some other colours), pinch off a chunk the size of a tooth. Roll it around booger-style, until it's the shape of a drop of water; oblong and pointy at the top. Hold the clay in one hand and a hand mirror in the other. Place the clay in your mouth, over the top of the fucked up tooth. While checking in the mirror, keep manipulating the clay until the shape is right and it looks like a tooth. You can take it out and make adjustments and put it back in until it's done. Repeat the procedure with some more clay. I, generally, make quite a few at a time, maybe as many as ten or more. Unfortunately, teeth made from Sculpey are very fragile and often break. Pop your teeth in an oven at 275 degrees for about five minutes. When you pull them out carry them in the palm of your hand. If they're so hot, you can't stand it for more than a couple of seconds at a time without switching hands, they're ready. Then you varnish them and they're done.

Q: Know What Sucks?

A: Getting a root canal. While they don't suck quite as hard as bone grafts, they're far worse than fillings or even getting a tooth pulled. What's even more unpleasant than any of the above is having your dentist's receptionist loudly quiz you about your shitty teeth in front of a room full of other patients.

Ouchie!

I haven't whined about my teeth in a while, so I figured I'd give you an update. Today, I had the first half of a root canal. This latest (scandalously young) dentist was very nice and the procedure, fairly pain-free. The latter part is especially important as I'm still scarred from my NYU Dental experience and actually start to physically shake (!!!) whenever I need to see a dentist.

The Large Greek met me after and told me I looked okay, but kind of like a stroke victim, so I think I'm staying in tonite. I promise to be way more interesting tomorrow. Once the novocaine wears off.

Assorted Musings. . .

Ha! Isn't "musing" one of the most pretentious words in the dictionary? It implies the sayer is curled up up on a sofa, thinking deep thoughts, perhaps listening to classical music and enjoying a steamy cup of herbal tea. Nothing could be further (or is that farther?) from the truth.

Though I am sprawled out across my sofa. But I ain't drinking tea. Burp.

This week's Seattle column is up and damn, I could've written a book on this topic: the disappearing boyfriend. The worst is when you've been seeing someone, for once in your life have actually waited the whole three dates, and then finally have sex with them only to have them disappear immediately thereafter. Ack! So humiliating. But everyone's heard my boring stories, so instead, I enlisted a select focus group—Jon, Michael, and my boyfriend—to give their side.

In other news, I had yet another dental appointment this week. This time with an endodontist. For those of you who don't have the teeth of a 75-year-old crackhead and therefore have no need to know what this is, an endodontist is a guy who specializes in root canals. Turns out my old fancy dentist—the one with the wall of windows overlooking Central Park—was a fucking quack and gave me a crappy root canal about seven years back. So that tooth—which I already paid somewhere in the neighborhood of three-and-a-half grand for, either needs another 3k investment or it gets pulled. I'm leaning towards having it pulled, wrapping the bloody thing up (crown and all!) and mailing it to the jackass who fucked it up in the first place. Or maybe I'll just go return it to him in person. Via his butt.

Though this new guy was nice (and wore a fluorescent bow tie!), it's kind of demoralizing to have to explain over and over again that no, I don't have AIDS or Leukemia or a methamphetamine habit.

No Thanks!

Apparently, much like AOL, the torture specialists at NYU Dental seem to have hired some retention specialists. I just got a call from a woman who introduced herself as Shalonda. Shalonda was calling because she was wondering if I was still interested in the NYU Dental program. After all, I haven't been there in a few months. I guess they miss me.

"Well, Shalonda," I replied, trying my best to be pleasant. "You people wanted me to shell out $40,000 and have ALL MY TEETH REMOVED. Like any sane person would, I went and got a second opinion—from a REAL dentist. He told me that was ridiculous and I would be a maniac to let you people do that to my mouth. So, no, Shalonda, I am definitely NOT interested in the NYU Dental program."

Silence.

"I see. Have a good day."

Click.

Deep Sigh of Resignation

Cleaning my teeth is at least a 15-minute process, three times a day. Once in the morning, an abbreviated run in the afternoon, and then the extended dance mix before I go to bed.

First, I rinse with Plax, which allegedly loosens up any plaque that might've accumlated. Then I carefully brush my teeth using my spendy Sonicare toothbrush, making sure to last the full 30 seconds on each quadrant. After that, I get the proxibrush and scour in-between each tooth, first rinsing the brush, then dipping it in peroxide before each space is cleaned. Once that's done, I floss (using two different kinds). I finish off by running a pick under my gumline in an attempt to get any bits that might've been left behind.

And so today, at the periodontist, while he said my teeth were extremely clean, he showed me what looked like a tiny little tumor way up in my gums. I guess it's an infection, because he says I am looking at two (count 'em!) root canals before he can even begin the next series of bone grafts. WTF?

If anyone has a barge full of money and several-hundred Vicodin they feel like sharing, please advise.

A Stitch in Time. . . .

Today I went in and had my stitches removed. I'd never had stitches before and I have to say, I don't really recommend it. Especially in your mouth. Knowing your gums are being held together with thread is a weird thing to contemplate and so all week, I couldn't stop pushing around the various hanging bits with my tongue. Though touching the stitches was okay, looking was not. I made that mistake once and the sight of the patchwork of flesh that was my gums put me off even the mushiest food for a day.

So the past week has been spent feeling like I've been smacked in the face with a plank. I was hurting, swollen, tired, but mostly, just really sore. As a result, I've been very unproductive, but that has to change. Tomorrow. Tuesday. I will find more work. That is a promise.

(Those aren't my teeth. I wish they were.)

Ouch!

This morning was the first of my four bone grafts. Though it was a deeply unpleasant experience, I thought it would hurt a lot more than it did. I didn't cry or scream once, which is pretty good for me. Of course the novocaine hasn't worn off yet.

Going to a healthcare professional who knows what he's doing makes all the difference in the world. I will never go back to NYU Dental. It's one thing to hire a student to take your head shots or do your taxes—it's quite another to let him go wild with sharp instruments inside your mouth. Plus, in sharp contrast to the scuzzy mess that is the NYU clinic, this office was clean and free of other people's bloody bits. This guy shot me so full of numbing agents and nerve blockers that I couldn't feel a thing except a lot of pressure and the occasional sharp pain. The sounds are always the worst part of any dental visit anyway; the whirring, grinding and scraping noises that always chill me to the bone. They were there in full effect. Spending an hour and a half with two people's hands in your mouth, one of them grinding away at the roots of your teeth is not a fun way to kick off the week, but it's over. For a couple months at least.

Dental Disasters

How timely the Times was this weekend. I've often lamented the lack of affordable healthcare in the US. I pay as much for health insurance as I do for rent (which is admittedly cheap) and can't even afford dental. I thought countries with more socialized approaches to medicine were far better off (and they probably are in a lot of ways). But a couple months ago my friend Eleanor hipped me to the fact that you're expected to "tip" doctors and surgeons in Greece. Her boyfriend had to tip his mom's eye surgeon about 5k an eye when she needed an operation. Now the Times reports on the problems of national dental care in the UK.

The Brits—not a people known for their shiny white smiles in the first place—are finding it more and more difficult to locate a dentist who is part of the state-financed national health system. Meaning that theoretically, free dentistry is available. But, practically speaking, there aren't enough dentists to go around. So a lot of people go without, choosing instead to DIY their dental issues.

So while I'm going under the knife tomorrow, I'll just thank Chase Visa that there's a professional doing the cutting, scraping and packing. Gulp.

(Those aren't my teeth in the picture and if you value the lunch you just ate, you won't click on it to make it bigger. It made me gag a little.)