DENTAL HEALTH FOR THE YOUNG AND NOT SO YOUNG

DENTAL HEALTH FOR YOUNG AND OLD November 15, 2008


I have false teeth. I know, I know you’re probably wondering how such a fine specimen of American manhood could possibly have been so unfortunate in the dental health area.
It’s a long and gory story with roots in the middle ages, also known as the Fifties.

When I was a very young child dental hygiene was not number one on the “to do” list in families of moderate means and multiple children. We were introduced to the toothbrush, a relatively new invention at that time, but since five kids had to share one brush some of us more sensitive types decided to forgo its use. Besides, my only sister was always hogging the thing anyway. Before my dear mother has a fit about that previous lie, I’ll “fess” up and tell the truth. We actually had two brushes, one for my sister and one for the boys.

We were all born and shortly after, developed the initial offering of baby teeth. Nowadays parents take their kids to dentists to have those baby teeth cleaned and x-rayed and so forth. In our youth those teeth rarely had an encounter with a tooth brush and a dentist was seen only if a baby had unusual fangs or multiple rows of tiny saw like growths. Normal baby teeth fell out. Why waste money on them? So I was like all those other supposedly normal children.

When I entered grade school there was no requirement for a physical or dental exam. If you could walk, approximate talking and use a bathroom you could get into school. My first school was a Catholic school and the nuns’ obsession with keeping the body covered up would have discouraged physical exams anyway. When our family moved and I switched to a public school we finally got some attention, medically speaking. We had to have physical exams, hearing tests and eye tests. And the school nurse would also annually check the kids to see if they had big problems with their teeth or other deformities. It was shortly after I entered third grade in the public school that it was determined that I was pretty nearly blind and fitted with some really attractive thick glasses with extra heavy tortoise shell frames. In those days I think the frames were actually made from real turtle shells, not plastic. Well maybe not.

I think it was in fourth or fifth grade when I first went to a dentist. I had a toothache and while I was there getting the cavity drilled out and a filling put in I had my first professional cleaning. It was there that my road to dental ruination took a critical turn. The dentist, whose name I’d better not reveal because some of his descendants might have a litigious nature, was a horrible man. His initials were B.M. and I always thought of him in a way that fit the usual meaning of that particular acronym. That dentist didn’t know the meaning of pain killers, patient comfort or a nice chair side manner. He was an ogre in a white coat. There’s an old movie called “Little Shop of Horrors” that has an evil dentist played by Steve Martin (how about that last name). I can’t watch that movie because the dentist character reminds me too much of my traumatic youthful experiences.
After that first visit to the dentist I knew I wouldn’t go again so I quickly learned the way to self medicate if I had any problems showing up after that.

Things went along pretty well for a few years. I made the occasional pass over the choppers with some Pepsodent and a toothbrush, while humming the catchy jingle.
Then I reached my last year in high school. It seemed that I was in real trouble in the area of dental health and could no longer avoid seeing a professional. I had cavities. I had some periodontal problems. And I had a girlfriend who didn’t like all that. So I talked to my mother and she made the necessary appointment. Unfortunately the appointment was with the now older and even more evil, Dr. B.M. At the first appointment the dentist gave me an extensive lecture, hurting my pride and adolescent ego. Then he got into a session of serious physical torture. After that first hour I was scheduled for four more appointments and given some medicine to apply to my gums. I can still remember the horrible taste of the oil he prescribed. It was like an extremely high concentration of the flavor of banana combined with fish. It was a flavor that should never touch any person’s tongue. But I used the stuff and I went to the next appointments with a fatalistic attitude. After all, as I said, I had a girlfriend. So I was in pretty good shape dentally when I graduated from high school.

Then came the four years of military service which I had signed up for which began the day after graduation. The first three years I had no trouble with teeth. But in the fourth year I started feeling pain at the back of my mouth on both sides of my lower jaw. It got really bad and was affecting my work so my boss ordered me to go to the clinic. Once again the road to good dental health took a detour. When I entered the clinic I was x-rayed and examined and it was determined that I had two impacted wisdom teeth. I said okay, give me some pain medicine and we’ll deal with the problem some day in the indefinite future. But the dentist, a large red faced guy that I can picture to this day, said no we’re going take care of that problem and a couple of small cavities right now. The state of the military dental service was pretty advanced in that they knew about pain killers. Unfortunately they were not too gentle in the application of the needles. And they didn’t wait too long for the effects to kick in. So this decidedly overweight dentist started his work. It involved cutting and twisting and pulling but I’ll spare you the morbid details. Let’s just say the highlight of the experience was when he was kneeling on my chest with sweat dripping from his face, swearing that he would get that damn wisdom tooth out even if it killed me. And it almost did. I bled for a few days and then the gaping wounds finally healed, although my psyche never did. I had one more experience with military dentists just before I got out of the service. But they had already done their worst and therefore no further trauma could be added and now that I was free of the military I would never have to see a dentist again. Or so I thought.

Years went by. I tried to maintain a good program of oral hygiene. But aging has a way of negating some of the programs we take on to take care of ourselves. When I was in my thirties I again had some problems. Only this time I found a modern, kind caring dentist. He promised to take slow and easy steps, use lots of wonderful drugs and to make me love dentistry as if it were fine art. And he did a pretty good job. Those problems were solved and then we needed to move because of a job change. Plus our financial circumstances changed quite a bit and dental care again got put on the back burner. We did take good care of our two daughters’ teeth and also impressed upon them the importance of continuing that care as they grew up and moved away. Consequently they have good teeth and no fear of dentists. But as I got older I had a recurrence of the psychological aversion to those guys with their sharp and shiny instruments and the destructive power they can wield. I know now that I was suffering from Agliophobia, Aichmophobia, Odontophobia and Dentophobia. All those phobias were wrapped up in a commitment to avoid dentists.

Again, time passed. Now I was in my mid-fifties and things were failing fast in the oral health area. It got so bad I thought I would have to move to West Virginia or St. Regis Falls just so I would fit in. But my wife convinced me that I should go to this dentist up in Pennsylvania who could take care of all the problems in one visit. She lied of course. We went up to this guy’s clinic which was in a rather seedy area of the city of Chester. It was a big place with lots of little offices and lots of dentists and technicians hustling about doing their jobs. The place definitely depended on volume and their output was phenomenal. So after a cursory exam and some x-rays the main dentist came in and gave me the verdict. Due to fifty-some years of aging combined with neglect and dubious early life treatment I needed to have all my remaining teeth removed. Because my jaw bones weren’t in the best of shape implants were not a possibility. It was dentures for me. So we set up a schedule. At the first appointment (the real first appointment was actually the consultation) the top teeth would go. At the second appointment the bottom ones would meet the graveyard of lost teeth. The extractions would be followed by six weeks of healing. Then it would be time for impressions, fitting and installation. Fortunately ample drugs were part of the regimen. As a matter of fact, even though the whole procedure was gross and disgusting, I really didn’t give a hoot because the drugs were that good.

So now every morning I take my teeth out of their little overnight spa treatment. Then I prepare to stick them in with my favorite adhesive, Poligrip. And usually at least once more during the day I need to clean everything up and reset those miracles of plastic and artistry. Then at night I go through an extensive cleaning of the appliances (we call them that in the dentistry trade books) and the inside of the mouth. I use more mouthwash in a month now than I did in the first thirty years of my life. Then I put the falsies into their little Polident bath and say goodnight. It is an extensive and laborious process that could have been avoided if I hadn’t been subjected to the horrifying trauma of bad dentistry throughout my early life. But I do get along with these substitute bicuspids and molars. I have no trouble gaining weight on all the foods I have a hard time avoiding. Sometimes I need to cut things into pieces but not often. Beef jerky gives me trouble as does the occasional apple. So life is good.

But let me tell you young people and not so young people something important. Do your oral hygiene stuff, and do it well. As much fun as it is giving my grandchildren a thrill when I pop out my dentures, it’s not worth the trouble that got me here.

Have a fine day.