I broke a tooth Thursday afternoon. I didn’t get in a fight with anybody, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was just minding my own business – a peaceable pilgrim passing through this worrisome land – when life said:
Tada! Here’s a reminder that you ain’t gettin’ any younger, Hooplehead.
I will spare you the grisly details. I went to the dentist yesterday and it’s hopeless, says he. The rest of the tooth will have to be pulled. And supposedly he has a great deal of experience doing so.
After I recover from the extraction action – in 4 to 5 months – I can have either a plant …
No, no. An implant. But trust me, there are no visual depictions of that concept, in all of Googledom, that are even slightly amusing.
… Or I can have a bridge.
I guess a viaduct is out of the question. It used to be a staple of all your better waterworks, but maybe they don’t do that anymore. But you gotta admit, it looks a lot like a bridge.
Don’t cry for me, Argentina. I had a root canal on the tooth that gave up the job, a few years back. So no pain. Just another hole in my head, now patched up temporarily with really cool space age composite goo.
… OK, OK, I know what you want. Here’s a canal.
Happened to me, too. In February. Finally had my dentist replace what was a broken crown. She did it for HALF the usual going SB rate. She's awesome. May you root well and your enameled pegs repopulate your mouth, my friend.That pretty bridge, by the way, is in France. But you knew that.