The Recalcitrant Molar

At 59, I have more natural teeth than any other Simpson in my prolific family. I have lost only one and that was a story in itself. I was in the service and reported to sick call with pain. The military dentist looked at the offending tooth and promptly extracted it. There was no discussion, no consultation. I guess he figured that I was nothing more than a cog in the war machine and did not warrant him expending any of his time and expertise on a simple filling. Anyway, that was many years ago. In the intervening years, I have tried to practice good oral health – I brush at least twice daily, floss religiously (keeping floss in several places in my room, in my office desk, and in my brief case). I use Listerine as if it were a single malt Scotch. Still, I have had issues with my teeth. Twenty years ago, I had a root canal done on a wayward molar, thinking that I could save the renegade. About three years ago, I started having insurgency attacks from this very same molar. Soreness, swelling, and throbbing pain. I was able to treat the issue with antibiotics. Until recently. Finally consulting a dentist, I was told that the root canal I had done was a botched job, that it had failed and the tooth had to come out.

That day has arrived. I go under the pliers in an hour or so. And, I hate it. More, I hate the idea of losing a tooth. One of my goals in life was to make it to the finish line with all of the natural choppers in place. Having already lost one, I feel doubly let down with the loss of another.

The dentist who is doing the deed is a good fellow. He examined all my remaining teeth, studied the x-rays, and announced that they were sound and should make it till the end, unless I started chewing on washers and bolts.

It is one of those signs of age, when you worry more about gum loss and wear marks than you do about how white your teeth are. You have to remember that I am not of the fluoride generation, so I took on the enemies of teeth with few allies – Crest, a toothbrush, with floss coming in as a late comer. Although with my rising affluence, I opted to replace Crest with Rembrandt several years ago.

Shades of the past, though, surround this dental work. The fellow wielding the pliers is a military dentist. I still have visions of my original experience back as an inductee. It gives me pause.