Dental fear of the most emotionally ravaging kind creeps into my being with the slightest suggestion of discomfort, mine or someone else’s. The following story is thankfully part of my history, and occurring at a time when I had dental insurance. Otherwise the pain would have been doubly annoying, both in mouth and pocket. As of this posting I lay claim to all of the teeth in my mouth even the fake ones, and it is with a great sigh of relief that I report, they are serving me well!

Having survived recent dental surgery, I’m at least able to sit here in the breakfast nook and think coherently.  There’s been a storm brewing in my upper jaw that was as subtle as a pile driver cracking through the cement sidewalk.  Dental denial strikes again.  Intellectually I know it’s ridiculous to pretend that the pulsing throb of pain that I’ve been experiencing is somehow going to resolve itself. Most fear is unfounded, but this type of dental fear is historic in nature and excuse the pun, rooted in reality, having suffered through some horrific dental procedures in my day. I will spare you the details here, but I have been sliced and diced, pulled and tugged, and experienced the dreaded drill with the best of ‘em. My irrational dental fear is anything but.

The next several days of dental healing will necessitate a “soft diet”. That could mean lots of ice cream, but I think a modicum of protein might be in order. For dinner last night, I reheated some beef stew and ground it up in the food processor and poured it over mashed potatoes.  Man was that delicious.  I was afraid that I would starve to death this past week as chewing on the affected side had become impossible, and I don’t have chompers on the other side capable of masticating meat or anything firmer than an unripe banana plucked from a tree. Is the lack of proper dental care in children at the hands of neglecting parents considered child abuse?  When I was finally brought to the dentist at age ten, I had thirty-eight cavities, more numerous that teeth.  I spent nearly every Saturday for the next six months in the chair trying to undo what was done through a childhood of excessive Bazooka bubblegum, Tootsie Rolls, Milk duds, and candy apples at the carnival.  Apparently the only reason I wound up in the dentist’s office was because my father’s marketing firm was located in a new professional building.

Dr. “NotSoFeelGood” moved into a suite just across the hall from my father’s business.  I believe my dental care was the result of some slick bartering on Dad’s part.  You know what I mean… “I have a kid whose teeth are falling out, you fix her up and I’ll market your dental practice all the way to stardom!”, or something like that.  However the deal went down, my teeth have suffered from those early years of neglect.

One crisis averted yesterday with an extraction of the offending bicuspid and a new bridge.  My mouth is sore this morning but I’m certainly looking forward to lunch.  I wonder what ham and cheese on rye will look and taste like when I scrape it from the food processor?  There’s always chicken broth or mashed potatoes!