… crumbling, that is. Yesterday’s dentist appointment, originally intended for routine fillings, was hijacked into doing the crown on my bottom left molar. That tooth now sports a fancy, shiny, tin-foil temporary crown. In a couple of weeks a permanent gold crown will be installed.
So now (and since Sunday, in fact) I’m avoiding eating on that side. Which is probably why the corresponding bottom molar on the right side of my mouth lost a huge chunk this morning while I was eating breakfast.
Hmmm, maybe I should stop eating breakfast… Fortunately, so far the broken tooth doesn’t hurt, but I feel a little wary about eating at all.
So now the appointment in two weeks that was originally intended for the new crown will be pressed into additional service for starting the crowning process on the freshly crumbled tooth.
Sigh. It’s starting to look as though there will be very little remaining from my life savings by the time the essential dental work is finished. So much for regular brushing and flossing!
I was a kid in Christchurch in the 60s and 70s, a time when dental nurses practised their black arts on the teeth of their young victims. I remember lots of so-called temporary fillings, and one particularly unpleasant visit involving my tongue being clamped.
I believe to this day that drilling teeth, filling them with temporary stuff and then drilling that out for a permanent filling can not have been good for young teeth.
Like many of my contemporaries, I have a mouth full of dark amalgam, sometimes surrounded by a thin layer of original tooth enamel. That enamel is now parting company from the amalgam, each tooth in turn. The prospects for my bank balance are dire.