Nothing makes a grown man brush and floss the way he’s supposed like a root canal. “Rancher, meet barn door. Go ahead and close it now that the horses are running across the field.” Except, that is, a root canal paid for without insurance. My teeth are so clean, you could operate in there…. 🤔 Which I suppose is because someone DID operate in there.
You’d think I’d have learned this before, having had multiple root canals and crowns. The irony is, if I was this age (56) in my dad’s day, I’d have scary partials by now, just like he did. He was already in his 40s when I was born, so when I was a kid (5…6…) he would simultaneously humor himself and scare the guano out of me when he popped them out and growled at me with his “fangs.” And sure, maybe genetics pre-disposed me to a lot of cavities—but so did lazy behavior.
Now, the last five years, and in particular the last several months, I’ve been re-inventing myself, if you will, in areas of my life. I’ve never been shy about discussing depression and severe low self-esteem things I’ve dealt with most of my life. But you have to eat the elephant a bite at a time, and…. You know what? SQUIRREL! Let’s “dissect” that analogy for a second. I bet that every person who has, is, or will eat an elephant a bite at a time will leave the crinkle-star for last. I mean—why wouldn’t you? If you decide to stop eating pachyderm after three or four thousand pounds, and you haven’t eaten the toughest, roundest, nastiest muscle, yet… well… you know… you didn’t eat Dumbo’s bunghole, at least.
I might’ve digressed a bit. 🐘
But I have been finally making some strides in life, the ones that matter, regarding a daily spiritual walk with God, working on writing and my business smartly, helping out a family who needs an adult caregiver on weekdays… I must take these small victories and expand on them with walking daily, exercise, sticking with a proper human diet… and putting in extra effort on the teeth. And I'm being honest when I say in the 3.5 weeks since that expensive procedure, I haven't skipped flossing once! 🏆
So last month, I had a root canal. I wanted to get into the endodontist who did the previous ones, but that wasn’t going to happen. I was lucky to get the appointment I did. It was a traveling endo who comes to our new family dentist co-op about weekly. “Dr. Chinchilla.” And yes, the man was every bit as exotic as that sounds.
He was as handsome as any Mexican soap opera star ever was, with a brilliant smile and relaxing demeanor. And I might be exaggerating this next point a hair or two, but his fingers were the size of branches.
In my Head: Duuddde…. For starters, I’m extremely jealous of your wavy hair. B: how many babes have you picked up with a name like Chinchilla? And 3: there’s no way you’re getting those logs into my mouth.
Also in My Head: Just wait until he wants your life story…
Sure enough, we got past the shots and waiting period and into the work itself. I’d forgotten they use the rubber dams, now. The point of those is collect water and tooth shavings until a back corner can pop off and dump it all down your throat at once, like you're a periodontal porn star. The real trick is to go to a happy spot in your head, like Lloyd Christmas meeting Sea Bass in a greasy bathroom stall…
The little scratch in the back of your throat presents itself as a small tickle in the recesses of your mind, barely perceptible. After Doctor Firewood-Fingers has activated a tool; and his assistant has started spraying water up your nose; and you smell a tooth burning like that skunky weed you smoked off a bent soda can in college; and the suction tool makes it impossible to hear clearly… well, at that point the little sensation near your tonsils finely releases in a cough-spasm that starts in the “Chi Center” of your abdomen and sounds like a wounded walrus doing battle for mating rights with the herd.
The four hands and thirty-eight tools in your mouth get yanked out with experienced precision, as the doctor’s Binford 6000 (ohh-ohh-ohh) cough detector warns them with milliseconds to spare…
After everyone is settled, and they’ve got the rubber dam reinstalled… well, that’s when the conversation starts. You’d think these people would know to only ask yes or no questions. I once heard that they actually take a course in understanding babble in dentistry school, which I thought was odd, since most military NCO leadership courses have a similar class.
Doc: So, what do you do for a living?
Me: Mmmpph a wruu2rr
Doc: Oh! What do you write?
Me: [Seriously?] Uh wroot eshun- <BLEEEECKKK-cough-cough> eshun-thwelluhs…
Doc: Cool! I wish I could write!
Me: [I wish you’d stop talking to me.]
Doc, to assistant: So did you guys close on that house, yet?
This leads to a thankful reprieve. It gives your tongue enough time to swell from the latex allergy it has developed from French kissing the rubber dam for 45 minutes. Then…
Doc: So, tell me about these action thrillers…
Me: Effnyughu tacketume Ehmmgonnemabllneftuhyou…
Doc: LOL 😅 Personally, I think it’d be cool if you named a villain after me, but okay… No more talking! <His beautiful teeth burn a hole through his paper mask and blind me with his smile.>
So, now I have a conundrum. I really wasn’t going to have any “Bond villain” bad guys in my coming action/mystery/thrillers. I mean:
- Goldchilla?
- Blo-Chin?
But the name Chinchilla does have a certain ring to it. I dunno… Maybe the murderer is a dental surgeon with giant fingers who speaks Pig Latin and has a pet nocturnal rodent. He wraps his victims up in rubber sheets and grills them with questions.
And instead of killing them, he just sends them the bill!
