Previews of Coming Unattractions

February 23, 2015 at 11:11 am (That's not funny...)

“Smiles everyone, smiles!”

Easier said than done when you get to be my age.

My dad had most of his teeth when he passed away at 83. Sure there were gaps, and some looked like stalactites/stalagmites. He had one that looked like a modern day cupholder. But they were his, the old coot.

We couldn’t say as much for mom. She had a full set of uppers and lowers, all store-bought. I never felt a weirdness or stigma to that, only sadness that she couldn’t appreciate steak. (She insisted on having it burnt brown clear through, and everyone knows you cannot enjoy a steak like that, let alone chew it with false teeth.) She had an odd-looking blue toothbrush, with a rubber tip shaped like a Hershey’s Kiss on the flip-side of the bristles. I had no qualms asking what those funnel-and-hose contraptions in the bathroom closet were, (douche-bag and enema bag; I knew what the enema bag was) but to this day I have no idea what those Hershey Kiss-shaped knobs are for.

But I guess I’m gonna find out…

I am just rich enough not to qualify for food stamps, but poor enough to qualify for Obamacare. (Fuck you, Mitt Romney. He took your plan and you denounced it. It’s his now.) Now that I have nursed myself into good health via the Republican Health Plan all my life, (“Don’t Get Sick!”) it’s nice to have a second opinion besides the internet doctor and the ER. I can do preventive medicine.

What’s this? I have dental? Hoo-wee!

Teeth 2

Poor Man's Gold Tooth

Poor Man’s Gold Tooth

I tried calling the numbers of caregivers listed. An hour of telephone rejection led me to believe the system was so overloaded that there would be no hope. Maybe I could go in person? I tried that, and couldn’t even find the place. I figured I’d stick with my old health plan: Pull them myself or wait until it’s so bad the county will pull them as an emergency.

That’s how it’s always been done in our family. We gots teef from Kaintucky!

Back around Thanksgiving, a lady walked into my work. “Wow, it’s much bigger inside. I’ve worked around the corner for years and never looked inside. You have beer?”

“Yes, we have beer. Microbrews and six-packs. Nothing fun to go.” I like to shoot down potential platform drinkers before they start. Keeps us both out of trouble. “Where do you work?”

“At the dental office up the street.”

“Really? Is that the one that takes the Oregon Health Plan?”

“Yes, that’s us.”

“Hah. I tried calling a few times. I got a recording that laughed derisively and hung up on me.”

“Our incoming call overload is insane. Tell ya what, give me your phone number and I’ll give YOU a call. How about that?”

I’m not in the habit of giving out my private phone number to random customers, but the last time I gave a random lady my address I received a small library of books about Ireland. Maybe she has ulterior motives? I scratched my number onto a receipt. I’ve given my number to way sketchier women.

The next day at work Deb called me. “How about February 17?”

It was three months away, but it was a start. “I have a loose tooth. I’m hoping I can make it that long.”

“If something comes open ahead of time, I’ll keep you in mind.”

So for three months I flirted and joked with Deb, and then the other day my turn to meet the wonderful world of dental health came up. They took x-rays, put a couple red lines in wisdom teeth, then the dentist came in. Some digging and scraping, and a few more red lines. “Would you be against the idea of a full denture?”

Prayers answered. I was dreading the thought of a partial. The best part? I could keep my lower teeth, for now. They were in there pretty good. The uppers were hanging by the proverbial thread.

They offered to pull my wobbly one, but it wasn’t bothering me at the time. An encounter with a piece of rogue pie crust changed that. I will be surprised if they get a chance to pull it. I have a Tweet ready in my head to announce its departure: “Who around here has lost a tooth eating pussy?” (Looks around.) “That’s what I thought.”

Cheese!

Cheese!

Since we’re dreaming.

They have thirteen teeth on their hit-list. All the uppers, and one or two lowers with little or no future. I will get new teeth the same day they pull them, which sounds painful. They make the new teeth ahead of time, and jam them in there right after. Helps with the healing, they say. I will use my newly-acquired sick leave (thank you, City of Portland!) to get a five-day weekend and some happy pills out of the deal.

Not to mention that brand new Walton Goggins smile. I’m gonna ask for a size too big, so it looks like I am always happy.

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1 Comment

  1. ArtEast said,

    Okay, gotta say it so forgive me in advance.

    YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TOOTH!!!

    ***backs away into corner***

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