Selfish Saturday: Dental decisions

Artwork by Anthony Falbo

Artwork by Anthony Falbo

This week, the young one and I had our first dental appointment in several years (four for him, over eight for me). There was a lot of trepidation for both of us; the boy was so nervous that even the dentist remarked on it, even if he did nothing but check and count his teeth. My own nervousness ran deeper.

With my extensive prosthetic work, which is well into the south of its useful life, what I need in way of oral hygiene is gum care (I’ve been fighting a slowly losing battle against gum disease for over a decade, without professional assistance, because, well, we couldn’t afford it), as well as having to think what I’m going to do when, inevitably, my crowns start breaking down. The particular dentist (whom we waited since our registration in March to see, all for a 15-minute lookover) didn’t even mention the condition of my gums, only an extraction that needs done – a crown that broke badly seven years ago, leaving the tooth exposed to decay. I’m not objected to having that one pulled, but with waiting times for NHS appointments being what they are, I’m already considering going private and hoping for the best (that is, my crowns living long and prospering).

I’m supposed to feel relieved after being done with a dental appointment, goshdarnit, not even more stressed, and over money, to boot.

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