Sometime last spring my wife and I took a wonderful road trip to Iowa, the air-borne gravel in Kansas notwithstanding. I’d never been in such a duststorm, and the nose of our then-new car still bears the scars.
My sister-in-law gave us a big bag of caramel popcorn to take home with us. It was fabulous. One evening shortly after our return, I was chowing down on a handful of the stuff and suddenly bit down on some rocks or sand. That wasn’t what it was, of course: the chewy treat had yanked a crown off and taken half of the root of the tooth with it. The next day at my dentist, I learned about my options. All of them were bad, in the sense that I would rather not, and only one was likely to succeed: the most expensive option, a dental implant. And the damage? Around $4,500, I was told. (Now that is some good popcorn…)
Who had that kind of money? Not me, but I’m not dead yet, and I wasn’t going to live with a gap in my teeth. If that’s what it cost, that’s what it cost, so this was a significant moment for me. I was worth it, in other words, and I decided to take the risk and go for the implant.
It was a rather lengthy process lasting months. By far the greater portion of it took place at the hands of another dentist, an oral surgeon in Santa Fe. His office was modest in size, new and modern, and totally stark: aside from the best collection of magazines I’ve ever seen in such a place, there was nothing to clutter or distract the eye, just white walls and quiet, expensive machines. He was my age or a little older, which surprised me, but completely reassuring in a way that isn’t really possible to describe. (This is important.) His staff was professional and competent. Over the next six months, I made several trips to Santa Fe for things that don’t need describing here, but let’s say I had to eat a lot of soup and yogurt.
I followed every direction to the letter. Each time he’d tell me how pleased he was that I was healing so fast. He measured the density of my jawbone and beamed that it was off the chart. I was doing great, and he was genuinely happy for me. I could tell that he was grateful that his skills had a part in this. He seemed aware of being a participant in something larger, you might say. Because of this, as difficult as it had been for me to face paying for this in the beginning, I ended up not minding one damn bit. I paid him all that money with a credit card and felt I was contributing to a healing, not a bank account. By the time the final checkup rolled around, I was almost sorry we were done.
For the final step, it was back to my regular dentist for the crown. Highly regarded and quite skilled, this dentist had a very different office. When I first started going there, it too was an unassuming place where I felt like I was in good hands. After a major renovation a couple of years ago, however, something shifted. It wasn’t the sofa, stuffed chairs, and fireplace in the waiting room or the paintings on the walls. It wasn’t the bubbling fountains or even the little dog (!). The staff was professional and almost cheerful to a fault, and there were plenty of expensive machines, but the office wasn’t quiet any more: there was piped-in local radio and more chairs, so there were more patients and helpers close together, chattering all the while. I didn’t like this, but I’m loyal, and my hygienist is the best. So is my dentist, but something about the whole process was also beginning to make me feel uneasy.
This dental implant has been extraordinarily important to me. The commitment to pay that much for a single tooth is a validation of my self. It’s a really big deal.
The cementing of the crown went well enough, although I hardly saw the dentist. They had me in and out of there in 40 minutes, and I didn’t have to write another check, having paid a large fee in advance the month before. As I walked out to my truck, however, I felt a slowly rising sadness that I didn’t understand at first. On the way home, it grew and grew, until it nearly laid me low. What in God’s name was the matter?
I don’t know when it hit me, but it did, eventually: there’d been no closure. No recognition of what an accomplishment it had been for me to devote so much time, money, and blood to this and see it through. No congratulations on having a full mouth of teeth again, no sense of appreciation for what we’d been a part of — it was like I wasn’t a patient, but a consumer. A pile of money! On top of that, my jaw hurt for quite a while, driving home the point.
The first guy cost a whole lot more, you understand, and I didn’t mind a bit.
Related posts:
- Health Care Follies for Aging Boomers
- Expensive Popcorn!
- My Amazing Thursday: Dentists, Doves, Cowboy, Granny-Lady, Pit Bulls, & Maple Trees
- Fresh Joy of Nothing
- Computer, Windshield, and Teeth
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
At least you got something taken care of. I’m being flip flopped between the dentist and the periodontist, each one is waiting for the other to make a decision, i’m about fed up with the whole thing. They want me to fuss with implants, which i just can’t reconcile, I’ve lived on what they want to “fix” things” for a year, i bought a house for less than what they want me to spend. The guy who pulled one of my broken teeth left an inordinate amount of debris in the gum, which worked it’s way out in a slow painful process, over the next four months, i too,ate a lot of oatmeal and yogurt . They both assume that i’ll be doing the implant thing, or have a bridge created, setting in the chair, i felt like one of those cartoons where one character morphs into something the other craves, in this case a pile of money! I guess the blender will end up being one of my best friends!
Doctor’ and Dentists, like a miserable wife, you can’t live with them, and you can’t can’t shoot em!
Meanwhile, cudo’s on the new web site, it looks great, well worth the effort! and it’s a good thing spring doesn’t have to deal with a depressive recession, the peach tree and the forsythia are getting ready to bloom, the daffy dills have popped, the mud has started to dry , the swamp is alive with the sounds of music!
A great pleasure to hear from you, me bucko. [For the rest of you, I not only know this commenter, who lives within smelling distance of the ocean with another solid friend of long -- very long -- acquaintance, I even understand the moniker!]
That is a fearsome tale you tell, sahib, and you are fortunate to have bought your house years ago when things cost no more than they’re really worth. Would that I had done something similar, but then how would I have been able to move to the terrible high desert? At least there are fruit trees, daffy dills, and even an occasional small swamp in these environs.
I know several people here who go to Mexico for dental work. One fellow I know just drove to Juarez and got a crown for $300. My dentist charges $1,200 for the same thing, although I’ve heard that I can get that done for less, even here, and will certainly be looking into that for the future. I just don’t like the idea of crossing the border to have someone I’ve never met work on my teeth, although I’ve heard nothing bad about the Juarez option. You might want to look into this, yourself, however — I can put you in touch with my friend here. For the amount of work ($$) those doctors see in you, it might be worth the trip. It’s just a long day’s drive from here, of course.
the only problem with juarez now is that the “drug war” has actually escalated into actual all-out WAR – full on shootouts with automatic weapons, whole neighborhoods taken over by gangs & the cartels, people dying everywhere; the state dept even issued a warning that college kids shouldn’t go to mexico for spring break partying because of all the violence. it’s gotten worse than colombia in the heyday of pablo escobar. there’s even been talk of sending the army and “militarizing the border”…. oh yeah, and all the guns the cartels are using were bought here in the u.s. legally at gun shows.