My Innocent Teeth fall prey to the diabolical Dr. Drill

I've never been afraid of the dentist. I had a really good dentist growing up - the kind that let you choose the music you listened to while you sat in the chair, and named all the cavities that he "chased from your teeth" (who can be too concerned about a cavity that apparently looks just like Mrs. Piggy?), and had an honest to goodness pirate treasure chest full of cool stuff in the other room that you got to pick something out of each visit - EVEN if you had a cavity! And you got a free toothbrush every time, too! The toothbrushes would usually end up in mom's cleaning supply closet 'cause they were just the real basic model, and I usually liked a good, fancy, features-added toothbrush.

Going to the dentist was an event, not an episode.

Until recently.

We have BYU Student Insurance, which is to say we have no insurance at all. There is a group of Dentists in Provo who offer discounted rates to BYU students - basically wholesale prices, no labor charge.

I woke up one morning with a broken tooth - so I researched online the dentists who offered these discounted rates, and called around until I found one who could fit me in the next day. The fact that he wasn't terribly busy should have been my first clue, but my half-full mentality told me that this dentist was just super accomodating.

What followed was a dentist visit straight out of a nightmare. I don't mean a horror-movie, I mean the real kind of nightmare you have where everything is surreal and nothing makes sense, and at any moment a bus will try to run you over, only your legs turn into sacks of soggy oatmeal or your teeth turn to chalk and crumble out of your head.

After an hour long wait (with nobody else in the waiting room) and a bizarre questionaire that seemed to be gauging whether or not I was in tune with my teeths feelings, I was ushered down a dark hallway and into a saggy room. The walls were dark wood paneling, the ceiling was a droopy yellow, the chair I was to wait in looked like an outcast from the antiques roadshow. There was a train motif in the room, so I figured that maybe the doudy atmosphere was supposed to be quaint.



Enter the dentist - older gentleman. Looked like a caracature for a mad scientist. But he had kind eyes, so I opened wide.

I came in for a broken tooth repair. He assessed that I had 8 cavities, snapped on his gloves, and started drilling.

What happened to looking at my x-rays (which he never did, even though the nurse took them) and coming at my teeth with that little tell-tale pick thingy (which he never did)? He shot me up with pain killer and told me that he'd fix my break (thank heavens) and one of the cavities close to it. He whipped out his drill, which smelled funny, and started hacking away at my teeth.

The drill was smoking. I kid you not, brownish grey plumes of burning-metal smoke was coming from the thing, and little bits of who-knows-what started flying at my face. While I was captive, the good doctor asked for suction (sorry, doctor, the suction hose isn't working), asked if the lamp thingy above my head had been fixed (sorry, doctor, we're out of lightbulbs for that lamp), and asked if the air conditioning was still broken (yes, doctor, the thermostat is non-responsive). Great, I thought. I'm under the knife of a doctor who's tools are broken, who can't see me properly, and who might be suffering from heat exhaustion.

I was pretty sure that the doctor had drilled clear to my skull, and I was wondering if the fumes from his drill were toxic when he stopped and handed me a dainty little mirror.

"I just wanted you to see how deep this cavity went!" he said, indicating the two holes in my back tooth that he decided I needed fixed (without referencing an x-ray or using a pic, might I remind you!). I looked, and the holes he gave me were indeed very deep - but I couldn't help thinking a smart-alecky reply "well, I see how deep your drill went"; but instead I just said, "huh".

He then told me to get up, that we were moving to another room.

So I followed the nurse into room # 2, which had white, plaster walls, a fresh ceiling, lights that worked and - hallelujah! - a new drill.

He plugged up the three holes he made in my face (counting the hole he gave my broken tooth) and babbled pleasantly about how his whole goal in life was to help people keep their original teeth.

He sat me up and told me that next time, he'd numb the other side of my face and fix the three teeth up there, and then do the bottoms. He liked to work one side of the mouth at a time.

Well, there was no way I was going to subject myself to toxic-drill again - and I just couldn't believe that I had 8 cavities when 9 months before, my dentist in WA gave me a clean bill of dental health. I wanted a second opinion.

So I asked Dr. Drill what, exactly, was wrong with my mouth. At that point, he pulled out my X-rays. I stared at them, scrinching up my eyes, trying to make sense of what he was telling me, but he was speaking Borg! "You have a cataclismic junction on the number six with a sixty percent chance!" he said, with special emphasis given presumably to work me into a sweat about my number six. I had no idea what that meant, so I said (obviously), "what does that mean?"

He blinked at me, and said, "probably a root canal."

"HUH?!"

"On at least three of your teeth."

Hoo, boy. I had to get out of there! So I thanked the good doctor, and high-tailed it to the receptionist - who didn't know how to ring me up, so half an hour later and $250 lighter, I was safe in my car.

Which was when I noticed that I couldnt' close my mouth. The filling he had given my back tooth (that may or may not have needed the holes he gave it) was sticking down so far that when I closed my teeth, the filling hit first, and I was unable to close my teeth.

I wasn't sure at that point whether to laugh or cry! So I called my mom.

she suggested I get a second opinion from my trusty childhood dentist (the Mrs. Piggy guy!), so I called, gave my sob story to the receptionist, who very kindly told me that, no - they didn't offer student discounted rates, but that they could give me an exam with a second opinion for around $100.

I made the appointment for two weeks later.

By the time the appointment rolled around, I had a permi-headache from the soreness of my poor teeth that Dr. Drill had worked on.

Dr. Murdock was very professional and didn't say anything negative about the dental work I had received from Dr. Drill, but as he fixed the filling (free of charge) that kept my teeth from closing, he couldn't help but keep mentioning how high the filling was (from the base of my teeth)...the two nurses that happened by while he was working whistled at it, too. They had never seen a filling so high.

So Dr. Murdock fixed me up perfectly, and told me that no. I didn't have 8 cavities. But I did have two...and one on the way.

Two and a half cavities isn't a happy ending to the story, but it's a much more realistic one!

And Dr. Murdock used the x-rays AND the pick, and showed me exactly where the trouble was. Totally worth the $100 spent, even if he didn't tell me I could get a toy from the treasure chest.