If God is good, Steffie will inherit Helaine’s teeth and not mine. I’m not sure where else there is to work in my mouth. My fillings must have fillings by now.
A few months ago I had a root canal performed. Now comes the next stage – a crown.
I’m not sure why, but I made an ‘early’ morning appointment. OK, 10:30 AM is only early morning for me!
I like my dentist. There’s really no way for me to judge his work. I hope he’s good at it. I sense he is because he’s smart, methodical and organized.
Really, the only way to know is if another dentist says, “don’t go there anymore.” I speak from real world experience in this regard, because it happened to me.
I had become friendly with a dentist and started having lunch with him and his friends – all dentists. One day at lunch one of them took me aside. He knew who I had been seeing (not my friend by the way). He said I should never return to that office again… that the dentist was a “butcher.”
Yikes! That was one scary conversation. But I wouldn’t have known had I not been tipped off.
I figured today’s procedure would be simple. Take a mold. Make a crown. Then I looked down. In the dentist’s hand was a syringe. I was about to get shot.
Maybe it’s my experience, or maybe the doctor’s skill, or where in the mouth it went, but the shot wasn’t that bad. Sure, no one likes to have part of their mouth temporarily paralyzed, but I’ll put up with it. What choice did I have?
This is but half the battle. I only have a temporary crown. Next time it’s the real deal.
Soupy Sales was right. Be true to your teeth or they’ll be false to you.