Tessie D

I finally had to go to the dentist. I was eating chicken and rice last night — it was soft and cheap — and my tooth broke. I thought this might be coming, so I’d been putting some money aside and trying to be a bit more frugal with my groceries. Going to the dentist probably isn’t a big deal for most people — or for people with dental insurance — but I have had, unfortunately, not-so-great teeth for most of my life. They aren’t crooked or discolored or anything like that. I’ve been kinda lucky in that regard. They came in straight, and I’ve never needed braces, not that we’d ever have been able to afford them if I did.

But I do get cavities and have for most of my life. Unlike my friends who lived in town, I lived in the country and drank well water, so I have always had cavities.

There’s the stereotype about country people having bad teeth. I get where it comes from, and it’s not because we aren’t hygienic or don’t brush our teeth. But it’s not true. I brush mine religiously and use this fluoride stuff that Momma would buy from the grocery store. That can only do so much, though. Going to the dentist twice a year is too expensive, and once I did go, the dentist and the hygienist would just spend the time shaming me for not having come in sooner and then for turning down treatments that I couldn’t afford. They’d offer less expensive options, but that usually meant not skimping on paid medication or filling the teeth with ugly, metal fillings rather than the natural-looking porcelain ones.

I remember a classmate in school whose entire front row was nothing but silver teeth. She’d never smile because the other kids would tease her mercilessly and call her “white trash” and “trailer park mouth.” There’s no way that a five-year-old knows what any of that means unless they’d heard it from their parents.

So, no, thank you. If I’m going to be in pain either way, I’d rather have my natural-looking teeth, at least.

Or, at least until I can’t stand it anymore. Which is why I finally had to cave and find a dentist this morning. The dentist, Dr. Stewart, was an older man who’d obviously been in the Air Force based on the certificates, pictures, and American flag on the wall. I found him in the phone book and called first thing this morning. They were able to see me at 10:00 a.m., so that was at least something. I called Mr. Owens and let him know that I’d be coming in after my appointment.

When I got there, the dental assistant took X-rays, and Dr. Stewart examined my teeth. He had large hands with hair on the knuckles that I could see beneath his gloves. He, of course, scolded me for not coming in sooner and for not getting regular cleanings. He reminded me how important dental hygiene was and that I needed to make this more of a priority. He suggested that I could forgo the make-up and clothing allowance for a month and put that money toward my dental check-up since I didn’t have insurance.

“And, once you’re married, make sure that your husband takes out the dental insurance at his job.”

I tried to nod, but with his hands in my mouth, all I could do was look back at him and blink.

The bad news was that the tooth couldn’t just be filled, so I needed a crown, which was $300. Or, he could pull the tooth for $35.

“Since you still have your wisdom teeth, we could pull this one and give that wisdom tooth some time to come through. But you’ll need to have the other wisdom teeth pulled sometime soon. That’ll, of course, be another $300.”

So, after a painful shot into the back of my mouth, Dr. Stewart clamped these large metal tweezer-looking tools on the tooth and started pulling. Even with the novocaine, the entire experience felt like he was pulling out my jawbone through the back of my mouth. When I groaned and cried out, he told me to hold tight and be a “good girl.” It only lasted a few seconds, but it was agony, and I never want to see that man again.

I paid the receptionist the $55 bill ($25 for the visit and X-rays, $35 to pull the tooth) and left, tears still streaming down my face and my jaw finally feeling numb. I drove straight to work, and the throbbing is making it hard to concentrate. So, I’m sitting here typing with one hand while holding a cold compress on my face with the other.