Word of mouth says that on a pain scale of 1 to 10, the bad tooth that recently made my jaw feel like it had been struck by lightning was a 47.
So, away from home and without dental insurance, which only added to the agony, I needed an emergency root canal.
Fortunately, I got one from a great endodontist who once gave himself a root canal and lived to tell about it.
My tale of woe began when my lower left molar—tooth number 18 if you’re scoring at home—began to be sensitive to the cold. Since my mouth produces nothing but hot air, I didn’t see how this could be done.
But sure enough, the cold water and, yes, the cold beer nearly knocked me off the ceiling.
So I called my dentist. Just my luck, he was on vacation. To make matters worse, my wife, Sue, and I were leaving for a 300-mile road trip to see our oldest daughter and her family.
I thought I could get by for a week until we got back. My molar had other ideas. It was some nerve.
The pain got worse every day until I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like someone had hammered my tooth and poured molten lava into it.
My daughter, feeling sorry for me, asked friends to recommend a dentist who was not on vacation and could see me right away.
So I ended up in the office of Dr. Candice Turpin, a friendly, kind, and extremely skilled dentist who said my molar was cracked and asked me about my pain level.
When I told her it was 47, she said, “You are very pleasant for someone who is in so much pain. It’s amazing that you make jokes.”
“It’s better to make a joke than break a tooth,” I replied.
“You have done both,” said Dr. Turpin, who suggested I see an endodontist. “You might need a root canal,” he added.
Fortunately, Dr. Kaveh Zand was in the same building, not on vacation, and could see me right away.
Sure enough, he said I needed a root canal.
“Don’t worry,” said Dr. Zand. “It won’t hurt. In fact, I once gave myself a root canal.”
“Who was holding the mirror?” I wondered.
“I did,” he replied.
“How did it turn out?” I asked.
“Excellent,” said the good doctor. “And I felt nothing.”
Then, as I lay in a chair, he pulled out a needle that looked like it could be used for a speargun and said, “That’s the only part that’s not fun.”
After she numbed my gum, which was conveniently rhyming, I said, “That was fun!”
Dr. Zand then took me to another chair, told me to open wide, put what looked like a plastic sheet over my molar, and I got to the root of the problem.
When the half-hour procedure was over, he said, “You have three canals under this tooth. Someone is infected, but it’s not the one who was giving you trouble.”
“Sounds like an eerie channel,” I remarked.
“You’ll need a crown,” Dr. Zand informed me.
“Because my tooth was a royal pain?” I said.
Dr. Zade flashed a dazzling smile and replied, “I see the anesthetic has worn off.”
A few days later, I was back at Dr.’s office. Terpin.
“How did the root canal go?” asked.
“Fine,” I said. “Dr. Zade and I bonded.”
Dr. Turpin smiled and said, “You’re still kidding. I’m going to numb you now.”
After crowning me, he put a film on my tooth and said, “Anoint for me.”
I shuddered in the chair.
“No,” said Dr. Terpin. “I mean grind your teeth.”
With that, my torturous experience was over. Or at least I thought so. Since I don’t have dental insurance, which is said not to be worth the cost, the total bill came to $7,000.
“It’s a lot of money,” Sue noted.
I nodded and said, “You took the words out of my mouth.”
Jerry Zezima writes a humor column for the Tribune News Service and is the author of six books. His latest is “One for the Ageless: How to Stay Young and Immature Even If You’re Really Old.” Reach him at [email protected] or through jerryzezima.blogspot.com.
