Am I a rich person or a poor person?

I’ve been having ongoing pain when I bite.  But the dentist couldn’t figure out exactly which tooth it was.  Until it got so bad fifteen months ago that it was clear it was the rear molar and he put a crown on it and voila!, the pain was gone.

Until June.  I was in Yosemite and the same pain returned.  Huh?

Not going away, and me going away, across the ocean, I made an emergency appointment with the dentist.  Who was going on a trip himself, to Alaska, for three months, imminently.  Thank god I caught him.

It wasn’t clear.  He gave me the name of the endodontist, or I could tough it out.

I come from the tough it out school.  I learned from my mother.  It’s illegal to be sick.  But what if you actually are?

The pain subsided, then returned, but not with a vengeance.  At my regular cleaning stop, which I delayed until the dentist returned from his trip, I asked him.  I figured he’d say to continue to wait.  Alas, he did not.  He said to see the endodontist, right away.  The pain had gone on too long.

So I drove to a low-slung building in downtown Santa Monica where a doctor without a tie probed with what looked like dry ice, it was smoking, and when I jumped at the cold he told me I needed a root canal.

Welcome to the club, as Joe Walsh would say.

And today was the day.

Actually, yesterday was the day.  But the doctor had to cancel, he had to go to a funeral.  Today’s appointment was much too early, but I didn’t want to delay, I wanted to get it over with.

What I hate about shit like this is they think everybody’s an expert, like everybody’s been through it before.  Ever been stopped for drunk driving?  They speak in code.  FST means "Field Sobriety Test".  But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.  You might be sober, but locked up anyway, because you couldn’t comprehend the acronyms.

Bottom line, they build a construction site in your mouth.  Truly.  They put up structural reinforcements and then erect a tarp, so the debris doesn’t go down your throat.  I’m a mouth-breather.  So, of course, I start to gag.

This wasn’t surprising to the assembled multitude, happens on a regular basis.  Maybe they needed to call in an anesthesiologist.

Huh?

You said I could walk out in ninety minutes as good as new.  Maybe a little numb.  Now you’re telling me it would be like my colonoscopy, and I’ll be fucked up all day?  How am I gonna drive home?  What about that appointment later in the day?

With me flummoxed, the doctor bridged the silence by saying he’d reconstruct, and leave me a little space to breathe.  Operational word "little".  Could I sit for an hour like this?

Turns out I didn’t have to.

After poking and drilling for ten minutes, the doctor stopped.  Houston, we’ve got a problem.

There’s a severe crack in the tooth.  He didn’t use the word "severe", but whatever he said it was clear that this was about as bad as it could get.  He was issuing no guarantees.  I could buy maybe two to five years at best with a root canal.  But maybe the root canal wouldn’t fix the problem at all!

So, being the methodical patient with OCD, I start asking questions. calculating the odds.

Here’s the story.  I can risk the root canal, or I can have the tooth pulled, MAYBE THIS AFTERNOON!  And then an implant installed.

Not that the implant goes in quite that fast.  It’s almost a year-long process.  And it costs $5,000 by time you’re done.

Do you need that rear molar?  My regular dentist said many have it pulled and leave the space blank.

The endodontist said in this neighborhood, people have "discretionary income", and tend to replace it.

So, who am I?  Am I the guy with discretionary income or the guy who lives in a rent-controlled house?

Worse, I’m a guy who’s got to get it right.  What’s the right decision here?

Meanwhile, I’m trying to talk through the tarp.  And the doctor complains it’s starting to rip.

And I can tell he’s getting frustrated, because I’m messing up his schedule, he’s gonna be behind all day.

But this isn’t a minor question for me.

He says it’s not his fault.  That he couldn’t see the crack until he removed the crown.

I can think about it while he does a bit more drilling.

And I’m sitting there thinking.  I don’t want to be stupid.  But the doctor says personally, he’d try and save the tooth, but then he says his view is skewed, because he’s an endodontist.

Well…

Meanwhile, he keeps drilling.  How much is THIS gonna cost me?  To abort the procedure?

Then I think of my father.  A self-made man who knew where every dollar was.  He’d skimp here, and save there, but when it counted, he’d lay down his money, it was important to get it right.  I decided on the root canal.

But I didn’t tell the doctor this.  Hell, I couldn’t speak.  But when he removed the tarp one more time, I asked him one more question.  If we stopped now, how much was I in for?

Four hundred bucks.

Four hundred versus $1550 for the finished procedure.  Basically, I’m making a thousand dollar bet.

LET’S GO!

Not so fast buddy.  Now the guy tells me he’s not sure he can do it today.  I’m gonna have to come back one more time.  He blames it on me not keeping my mouth open wide enough, but I know it’s a timing issue.

Fuck, DO YOU THINK I’M GONNA COME BACK?

And he’s discouraged.  But I tell him to just tell me what he wants, and I’ll give him what he needs.

So I’ve got my mouth open so wide and it hurts so much that I know I can never be a girl, because there’s no way I could give head. And I’m hoping and praying we can finish today.  But I’m also worried he’s gonna rush and fuck it up.  Although he said he needed to do a professional job, he needed to get it right.

And it doesn’t hurt as much as the rep.  He loaded me up with novocaine.  Still, I’m clutching my knees to my chest, but I will not complain, because I don’t want to come back.

Then the doctor kicks back and says we’re making "good progress".

Ultimately, he told me I was "wonderful".

Great, where’s my check?

So we finish up.  After x-rays and a discussion about world music with the hygienist, I lay down my credit card and walk out feeling…defeated.

I thought I’d emerge triumphant.  But did I make the right decision?

At least I made A decision.  Which can be quite difficult for me.

But if you don’t live in Santa Monica, if, like me, you don’t have dental insurance, are you really gonna have an implant or are you just going to go for extraction?

Is health care a right or a privilege, based on your bank account.

You need a heart transplant, do you need a dental implant?