I don’t exactly have perfect teeth, but I keep them brushed and flossed and except for my wisdom teeth, they are all still there.
I always kept my dental appointments in the military, and the conversations usually went like this:
“You need to floss more.”
“I know.”
“You have a dead tooth. We should do something about that.”
“It was killed a long time ago, and it doesn’t bother me.”
“OK…but we can dig into it, fill it full of (some sort of hideous plaster or something), and make it white.”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“(Long pause.) OK. If it bothers you come back and we’ll (drill through the back of it and scrape out the inside while you writhe around in indescribable pain).”
“OK, Doc.”
That usually worked and I would make a dash toward the door.
My front tooth was killed by an impact with another kid’s head circa 1967 during a football game, and it has been discolored ever since. But it’s a sturdy corpse, and until it starts hurting or falls out, I’ll keep fending off the dentists.
Things got more difficult, however, once I befriended a few of them. We were on a carrier and they seemed like good guys, at least until the time came for my check-up.
“You need to floss more.”
“I know.”
“You have a dead tooth. We should do something about that.”
“It was killed a long time ago, and it doesn’t bother me.”
“OK…but we can dig into it, fill it full of (some sort of hideous plaster or something), and make it white.”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“(Long pause.) Jeff, I really think you ought to have it done. It’ll whiten up that tooth and fix it for good. I can do it right here.”
I looked at him – my friend – and actually considered it. Here was my buddy, looking at me eye-to-eye with genuine concern on his face. I realized that a real friend wouldn’t put me through a procedure unless he actually thought it would be to my benefit. I trusted him. Maybe it really was time to get it over with.
Just as I was about to give permission, he said, “And we can do a root canal. I need the practice.”
Seventeen years later the dead tooth still sits in its rightful place, an off-colored (albeit dead) testament to sturdiness and tenacity.
And none of my friends are dentists.
