Years ago I had a toothache but no dental insurance so I waited and pondered. When I finally achieved insured status through my state job the tooth needed a root canal and I used the last of my savings to pay for the crown.
The tooth still hurt; the reasons were obscure but I had another root canal, paying for it out of pocket. They drilled through the crown and told me that the roots were impenetrable, that they didn’t know how long the repair would last.
Ever since then I’ve been ignoring the fact that I can’t eat ice cream or hot food. I’ve been chewing without touching that tooth. I’ve taught myself not to clench my jaw by keeping my tongue wedged between the molars.
All the while, the tooth has in fact hurt — but I saw no point in pursuing the issue, figuring it would stop eventually.
Somewhere around my birthday my mother looked at me and said Why is your face puffy? Have you gone to the dentist recently?
I hummed and stared off at a distant horizon.
But then recently a traveling accordion player was telling me about a problem with one of her teeth, and the hassles of having it fixed in the middle of a tour. I started to think about what might happen if my tooth goes septic while we are in Spain.
Which of course convinced me that it either did or did not hurt, depending on the moment.
This morning I started to call around to check on dentists suggested by friends and one of the nice people on the phone asked if I have pain currently. When I murmured an acknowledgment she said Can you be here in half an hour?
I was confused by the office; I’m not used to the treatment doled out to people who have excellent insurance. I’m not used to luxurious private practices with massaging seats. I’ve spent too many long painful hours sitting in lines at public clinics with people who are bleeding to know exactly how to answer the kind questions of the nice people who ushered me to an exam room.
The hygienist was jovial as she set me up for the x-ray. When she saw the results she asked How long since the root canal?
I said Oh, seven years. Maybe eight.
You’ve had pain that entire time? Constant pain?
Yes.
She was visibly shocked, and hurried out of the room to fetch the dentist. Who diagnosed an abscess.
There was a brief discussion and then I was escorted upstairs to see a specialist for an emergency root canal.
Insurance is a wonderful thing.