Andy Young: On improved dentistry and being prepared

By Andy Young

“Be prepared,” Scouts (of both genders) urge.

I thought about those Scouts last week prior to a dental appointment I had to replace an old filling. The hour-long procedure was scheduled for 10:30. However, since I had eaten breakfast that morning prior to 6 a.m., I knew I’d be famished by the time it was over. The dentist’s office is a half-hour from where I live, so I thoughtfully prepared for my anticipated hunger by sealing a day-old bagel in plastic wrap for a post-session snack.

The plan was a solid one, and since the skies were clear that morning, I left the bagel on the passenger seat in direct sunlight, insuring that it would taste warm and fresh-baked when I returned.

Dentistry has come a long way in my lifetime. When I was young, going to get my teeth serviced wasn’t even remotely enjoyable. Aside from being allowed to spit into a bowl-shaped whirlpool after each assault on my choppers by the person allegedly cleaning them with some sort of nasty-tasting, gritty paste, there wasn’t anything to look forward to.

And once I got a cavity, those visits to the dentist became downright terrifying. Even if I hadn’t been exposed to watching Dr. Moe, Dr. Larry and Dr. Curly torture some hapless patient on TV, the shot of Novocain that allegedly dulled the impending pain was excruciating and did little to lessen the discomfort still to come. And the hideous sound of the approaching drill made the experience even worse. Thinking about it today still makes me cringe.

But that was then. This is now. Last week the dentist began by rubbing numbing gel on my gums. A moment later he began jiggling my cheek with his finger while giving me a pain killing shot I never even felt!

He explained my nerve endings could only sense one thing at a time, which was why I barely felt the needle go in. An hour later we were done, just as he had promised. My teeth felt good as new.

Remembering that it sometimes takes a bit of time for fillings to solidify, I asked the dentist how soon I could have something to eat.

“Any time you want,” he responded cheerily, adding, “This isn’t like the old days. It’s safe to eat right away.”

Having been granted absolution, I went back to the car and unwrapped my bagel. Leaving it in the sun wrapped in plastic had been sheer genius; the first bite did indeed taste like it had just come out of the oven. Savoring its softness, I took a second chomp, and then another.

But then the bagel’s consistency changed from soft to rubbery, sort of like a thick dried apricot. Chewing with renewed determination, I began sensing a taste not normally associated with bagels. I also felt a bit of drool on my chin, which I casually wiped away with a Kleenex.

But when I glanced down at the suddenly crimson tissue, I realized what I had been tasting was blood. Eating with a just-filled tooth is indeed safe, but only when the gums and jaw it’s attached to aren’t still numb.

What I had been enthusiastically munching on was my own lower lip. I had planned on grocery shopping on the way home, but since the gruesome face in my car’s mirror looked like it belonged to someone who’d just finished dinner at Jeffrey Dahmer’s all-you-can-eat buffet, I decided to replenish my milk and banana supply at some other time.

The Scouts are right; we should be prepared. But how does one adequately prepare for inadequate preparation? <