Dear Park Dental,
This is the second letter I’ve written to you, which would indicate that we’re spending far too much time together. At the very least, I’d like our meetings to be more uneventful in the future.
Today I came in for a couple fillings and to have my crown looked at, since it’s been sort of wobbly lately. The tooth with the crown has been my own personal torture for far too long, to the point where I’ve considered just having all my teeth pulled and a nice set of dentures made. Not just any dentures, but the ones they show on the old Efferdent commercials with the huge rounded teeth that conveniently pop off the metal band. I’m talking badass dentures, good for scaring kids. Anyway, I’ve put that off fora while and decided to deal with the problem at hand.
My tooth drama began almost five years ago, when my last company changed dental providers. I picked the one closest to work, in an old building on Nicollet Mall. I should have suspected it was not the best choice when I saw his office: it clearly hadn’t been updated since he went into practice in the 60s. But I went anyway, since I knew I had a cavity that needed filling.
The hygienist cleaned my teeth, then the dentist came in to take a look. I pointed out the tooth. He examined it and declared it to be cavity-free. No x-rays, just some poking with a sharp instrument. I asked him if he was positive, and he assured me it was fine. A couple months later, the cavity had progressed to the point where there was a large crater in my tooth, threatening to deepen into my skull. Unwilling to have to undergo plastic surgery for the sake of my dental health, I made an emergency appointment. This time, he acknowledged the obvious defect in my mouth, and proceeded to fill it. I left contented, sure that my problems were over.
I was so wrong. The tooth started to bother me more and more over the next several months. Finally, I woke up one day to discover that my gums were swollen and sore on one side of my mouth. I quickly found myself on the phone with your office, unwilling to go back to the medieval torturer again. My new dentist quickly diagnosed the problem: the cavity had not been completely drilled out, and was indeed still progressing toward my brain. It was infected, and needed a root canal.
What followed was a long series of dental visits, which have become clouded in a thick haze of novocaine and the need to forget. I had it drilled, redrilled, rebuilt each time with less and less of the original tooth remaining, and finally had the root canal. Once the infection had receded and all seemed well, the tooth broke and was declared unrepairable,so it was time for a crown. At this point, I was tired of the snotty receptionists and $10 parking at your downtown office, so I started going to Brooklyn Center. Why, I’m still not sure, since it’s a 30-mile drive onthree major freeways from my house, but that’s where I ended up.
I started seeing Dr. Luke. I dug Dr. Luke because he made me laugh. He was slick like a car salesman, cracking jokes all the time. All the hygienists flirted with him. Dr. Luke set to work on my tooth. As you know, a crown is no simple procedure. It requires two or three separate appointments, and plenty of drilling and gluing. Dr. Luke made me a temporary crown, which broke almost immediately.He made me a second temporary, which also broke. By the time he put the real one in, Dr. Luke and I were developing a real relationship. However, I also had problems with that crown. Something wasn’t right. When I called back for another appointment, I was uncomfortably informed that Dr. Luke was no longer with the practice. They were less than surprised that I was having trouble with his recent work. I went back to a different dentist, who removed the crown, looked at it questioningly, and reglued it with an industrial-strength adhesive. And that was it.
Until recently. The crown started coming loose. I started chewing only on the left side of my mouth, which made me wonder if I was going to develop muscles of steel on the left, and flabby slackjaw on the right. I made another appointment, hoping to avert yet another crisis. My fourth new dentist agreed that it was loose, and tried to pull it out with his hands.That failed, so they got out the heavy equipment: the green jujube. Ok, it was more of a ‘dot’ than a jujube, but that’s what they called it, and it was indeed high-tech. The procedure involved heating it up, having me bite down on it, letting it get cold and sticky, then having me whip my jaws open,thereby pulling out the crown. While I sat there with the green jujube clamped between my teeth, wondering if it was candy or an actual dental device, the dentist and his assistant asked me questions about it. What did it taste like? Cinnamon. They managed to understand my reply, clenched teeth, numb tongue and all. They counted to three and I opened my mouth. It pulled out about halfway, and the dentist yanked it out: my crown, deeply embedded in a sticky green jujube.
He examined the empty space and said, “Dr. Luke put this in, huh?” That explained everything. He cleaned it up and told me they would replace it,then glued the old one back in temporarily and told me to make another two appointments for a new one. If the old one falls out in between now and next Thursday, my instructions are to not swallow or inhale the crown, but to put it in a baggie and bring it along. I’ll do my very best.
So, I think what I’m asking for is just a little special consideration. If I were to become angry at my next visit and start rampaging through your office armed only with a slow drill and a suction tube, please understand. It’s not you, it’s the frustration with a situation that’s gone on far too long. Hit me up with plenty of nitrous the second I walk in the door, and I think we’ll all be just a little bit happier.
Sincerely,
Jenni