I'll now take you away from our regularly scheduled programming to tell the tale of my tooth number 9. This story is meant to make you laugh. I will continue to laugh and live my life. Jude would have wanted that. Apologies to all my dentists, who will now learn just how many of their instructions I didn't abide by.
When I was 25, I was back in NYC after a ten-month stint living with my parents. Suffice it to say that I was terrible at adulting. This is my story, and I can oversimplify and gloss over unflattering details. It was Mother's Day, which meant big checks at the restaurant where I worked. Once we all clocked out, it was time to party. And party we did. At that time in NYC, our regular haunts were Stonewall, Hogs, and Heffers, and a small dive bar where our friend was the bartender. We got smashed. I danced on the bars like the girls in Coyote Ugly and barely stayed on them. I'm not proud, but who is proud of their 25-year-old self?
As our group of friends said our goodbyes, I found myself in a confrontation with a fire hydrant that came out of nowhere. I tripped and landed face-first. I turned to my friend, derriere in the air, face on the floor, and vainly asked, "Am I still pretty?" He said yes, but he lied.
In the morning, I awoke, hungover, and looked in the mirror. My tooth #11 (I'm an expert by now), aka my left incisor, was cracked in half. I called my mom in a panic. Remember, I'm 25 and bad at adulting. I don't have a dentist, dental insurance, or any accountability. My mom found me a dentist in NYC from her home in MA and got me an appointment that day. Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
My emergency dental appointment was a success. The tooth has been no trouble since the day of the incident. Tooth number 9, my front left tooth, turned out to be the troublemaker. Over that summer, my tooth slowly started to turn brown. I had so many dental appointments. I was working with two dentists, and halfway through my treatment, one of them died.
Nothing helped. We (my parents) spent a fortune on the tooth, and nothing improved the dead, brown tooth. Remember, I'm 25. I'm an asshole, but I'm also in peak partner-finding years. A brown tooth is suboptimal. Somehow, I found a man who liked me despite my brown tooth. He dumped me once, which I only bring up when I need to win a fight, but eventually, he married me.
A few years later, I was with a new dentist to replace the deceased one. I asked what he would suggest to improve my appearance, expecting some sort of veneer option. At this point, I was slightly less of an asshole, fresh into my new career as a software engineer and paying my dental bills myself (with insurance)! He phoned a friend and had me at an appointment with a specialist later that week. This specialist fixed me in 30 minutes. It was so primitive. From what I remember, a Bunson burner and a few metal apparatuses were involved. I walked out with a white tooth.
This fix lasted for years. I thought it was a forever fix. But alas, the saga does not end there. Fast forward to 2020. You may remember there was this global pandemic thing that happened that year. Well, I didn't go to the dentist for two years. I also had a baby and lots of hormones around breastfeeding. The tooth started to wiggle, and we needed to make a plan to remove it.
The plan was to do Invisalign and then replace the tooth once the adjacent teeth were all in the right place. But the best-laid plans of mice and men, yada yada yada. Abruptly, in Christmas 2021, my body decided the tooth had to go. An abscess started to form above it, and my gums were infected. 2022, and my entire 36th year on this planet, will forever be remembered by me and my family as the year with no tooth.
Here's what we did. I went through my Invisalign as scheduled, and with each aligner, the hygienist would paint in the front tooth. Imagine the consistency of nail polish painted into the front of a plastic glass. Early on, I discovered that these were pretty delicate. I lost my first one to an electric toothbrush. Soon, I started to use this to my advantage.
I would pop out the new "tooth" with each new set. This "tooth" would serve as my "daytime tooth." It was fresh and clean and never worn while eating and drinking. At night, I would take that "tooth" out and put in one of my more vintage "teeth." I called these my "red wine teeth." I carried a little jar of them in my toiletry bag.
By this point, I was 35, much better at adulting, much less of an asshole, but still fucking savage. Nothing was going to come between me and my red wine. Also, we were still in quarantine. So, I drank my wine in my aligners with my red wine teeth. Each aligner was horribly stained and scratched to bits because I wore them while I ate. Eventually, I loosened my grip on my vanity and would let a handful of folks see me without my fake tooth in.
By the time Jude was born, I had a temporary tooth attached to my implant. I hate the expression that "God will never give you more than you can handle," because I think I've gotten plenty more than anyone should have to handle. However, I can't imagine going through all this AND not having a front tooth.
I would have fallen apart had it not been for Hingham Dentistry. They were and are the absolute friendliest practice I could imagine. They've taken such good care of me. Veronica and Beatrice, the administrators, and I recognize each other's voices on the phone. If I could not drive and didn't arrange a ride home, I have no doubt one of them would bring me.
When Jude was born, and we found out about his single maxillary incisor (one front tooth where there should be two), Shannon and I joked that he and I would have matching implants. When things started to go south with Jude, they followed along with the blog and always kept us in their hearts. After he passed, they fit me in immediately for my final tooth, so our family could take an impromptu vacation to Nantucket to heal together. When the tooth wasn't perfect that day, Dr. D, Olga, and I stood outside together, holding open my mouth with forceps, taking pictures, crying, and hugging.
I have once seen a man working there, but overall, it is a practice of badass women. My dentist, Dr. Devitre, and my periodontist, Dr. Le, are the best in their fields. They know me and my family, care about me, and have genuinely saved my poor mouth. I was actually quite sad my saga had come to an end. That is until I learned that Dr. D also does botox, so I'll still get to spend plenty of time there. If you told me Dr. D was also a therapist, I'd sign up for that, too. I trust her so much.
Thank you to everyone at the practice; I can't tell you how much I appreciate you. Apologies if I miss a name, but thank you, Dr. Devitre, Dr. Le, Shannon, Katie, Olga, Yaliz, Veronica, and Beatrice!