Tooth failure raises range of, ow, feelings

I have never, ever, in my 40 (something unintelligible) years, had a toothache.

I’ve never really had tooth problems at all. I have no fillings, no gaping holes where teeth should be and no snaggles. My teeth aren’t perfect but they have been healthy. Until now.

This past weekend ruined my perfect record. Last Friday afternoon, I started feeling a little bit of a zing on a molar. It was early enough in the day that I might have had a chance to see a dentist but I took a different approach. I ignored it.

It got worse and worse until afternoon turned to evening and I had a company Christmas party to get to. I didn’t want to miss it so I picked up a tube of that numbing gel stuff, tucked it in my suit jacket pocket and headed out.

I toughed it out that night. And by “toughed it out” I mean I attended the dinner, begged until someone found a few spare Advils, survived the coming and going tooth pain and somehow, miraculously, actually ate a large serving of something called sticky toffee pudding.

Looking back, I should have, at the least, had a smaller serving. But as I said, I’ve never had a toothache. I don’t know how to behave.

By Saturday, my toothache was full blown. It had reached complete slam-myhead-in-a-car-door to release the pain levels. This pain wasn’t going to pass and when I wasn’t thinking “take me now please” I thought about Dr. Kerr, my childhood dentist. He had the gentlest demeanour and hairiest forearms of any man I’ve ever known, and every time I went for a visit he commented on what strong, healthy teeth I had.

I’ve let Dr. Kerr down. I’m a tooth failure.

After the episode, my current dentist was doing a little review of my teeth trying to find a cause. He was poking and examining and asking me questions and expecting answers even though he had a minimum of four fingers and a pokey tool in my mouth at all times. I heard him tell the assistant to make a note, “mutation, class one.” When he finished, I had to ask. “Mutation, class one? What is that? It doesn’t sound good at all.”

He said, no, no, no it’s just a classification and nothing to be alarmed about. My teeth are just fine other than the one that has me praying for a bus to fall on my head.

He says my tooth might have an infected crack (high five to me for getting the phrase “infected crack” into the paper). It might be a dying tooth. It might be voodoo.

While I continue to bravely work and live my life with a damaged molar, I thought I’d review the anatomy and emotional devastation of a toothache so that if you ever go through this, you will be prepared.

Stage One: Hmm ... my tooth kind of hurts when I bite certain things in a certain way. Crunch N Munch? Yes, give me some.

Stage Two: Is that Chicago Mix? You bought Chicago Mix? Give me some.

Stage Three: You didn’t tell me we had nacho chips. Give me some.

Stage Four: I can’t believe you bought salted caramels at Costco. A giant, Costcosized tub of salted caramels. Those things will ruin the best of teeth. Give me some.

Stage Five: Uh oh. My tooth really hurts. Hmm. That’s not good. Hooo boy. Oh. Wait. I think it’s going away. Yes. Yes. Good. It’s passed. Stage Six: Ow. Oh. OK. OK. I’m OK. Stage Seven: Ow. Owwwww! Ow. Stage Eight: (Crying) I can’t take it anymore. Nothing is working. Not toothache gel, not painkillers. Nothing.

Stage Nine: What would happen if I just smeared toothache gel on my head? Would that help?

Stage 10: How much toothache gel have I eaten?

Stage 11: If you make it to Stage 11, you should be in a dentist’s chair, doctor’s office or, if you’re me, an emergency room.

It was early on a Sunday morning. I had nowhere else to turn. I needed help and I found it.

An angel gave me some powerful painkillers. A glorious, beautiful, mustached angel named Dr. I Don’t Even Care.