In which I love one dentist and loathe another

I have the worst teeth in the world. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but I feel that way every time I go to the dentist. And you know what? It's not my fault. I brush at least twice a day, floss probably 4-5 times a week (come on, that's me being honest and you know most people don't floss like that), and utilize mouthwash. The dental woes I have are, in fact, caused by dentists. Well, at least they are now. I shall now give you a full run down of my odd dental history.

On Easter Sunday when I was 13, I was at my friend Becky Walker's house, jumping on the trampoline. She is a fantastic gymnast, so loved to do tricks on the trampoline. I decided to join in with the one impressive trick I could sort of do - the front flip. I couldn't ever land on my feet, so that was my goal. I flipped and flipped and flipped to no avail - I would either land on my back or catch myself on all fours. As time wore on, our parents called us in for the giant Easter feast. I decided to stay outside for one more flip. Are you sensing where this is going? I over-rotated but was too far forward and rather than landing on the trampoline, my mouth made contact with the bar running around the edge. Are you vocalizing pain, discomfort, and general nausea now? Most people do at this point in the story. I sat up and spat out what looked like pieces of sugar but was actually the bottom 3/4 of my tooth. Nice.

I ran inside screaming to my incredibly calm parents (good thing Mama Deb is a nurse and Scooter is levelheaded). Dad immediately called my dentist's mom. Backstory - Dad grew up next door to our dentist. All those boys (10 between both families) were interchangeable and inseparable. So when I broke my face, Dad knew where to find Dr. Tingey - at his mom's for Easter Sunday. Sure enough, he was there and had us come over immediately, knowing my dad wouldn't have called if it wasn't a big deal. I was sobbing the whole way (of course), but when we got there, Grandma Tingey was ready for me. She had a comfy chair set up in the kitchen where there was the best light and a big piece of pineapple upside down cake for me to make me feel better. She patted my shoulder, hugged me, and told me it would be okay because her boy was going to fix that. God bless Grandma Tingey!

Well, I sat in the chair, opened my mouth, and I'm pretty sure that Dr. Tingey actually took a step back after taking a look. Guys, it was bad. The root was exposed and, well, I had a jaggedy lump left where a tooth should have been. He talked my dad through what would need to happen - they'd build me a tooth on top of what was left and wait to see if what was left would die out or hold up. So he called his hygienist and told her that they were going into work the next day (they had planned to be closed that day) at 8 in the morning, and that they were building me a tooth. I went home with my pineapple upside down cake, some painkillers, and a promise that it was all going to be okay. The next morning, Dr. Tingey built me a tooth and told me that, eventually, what was left of my tooth would probably die. I'd probably make it to 16-18 before it needed to be replaced, but that might mean a bone graft and post. But I was good to go for now.

Fast forward 13 1/2 years to October 2011. I'm now in Indiana, so Dr. Tingey isn't an option at this point for my dental care needs. I go to a dentist here who was recommended by a coworker. I tell them about the tooth and mention it's starting to just barely feel sensitive, but because of the extreme trauma it has endured, I'd like them to take a look at it. Sure enough, it's starting to die. They decide they can get away with a root canal rather than the bone graft. I never thought I'd be so grateful to get a root canal in my life. So they settle me in with a prescription to help with dental anxiety (I mean come on - it's a root canal in the front of my face) and I show up to one of the most horrendous events ever. I am not a good dental patient in that I am terrified of the noises and therefore white knuckle the chair the whole time, mentally incapable of realizing that this is actually not a big deal. Somehow, I make it through the procedure, get my temporary cap, and await the arrival of my new tooth.

Two weeks later, I head back in, and... they made the tooth in the wrong color. It was significantly darker than all of my other teeth. Seriously guys? You held up color swatches to my face to match the color, and you got it so wrong that when you pull it out of the box, I can't help but thinking how brown it looks? Nice. So they reorder the tooth and I am left with my temporary again, which I am told I can't bite down on - not even on a piece of bread. Sigh. As I'm getting ready to head back in to get my tooth, I get a call saying that it's not in yet and they're not sure when it's going to be ready and that I have to wait indefinitely until it comes in. Three weeks later (if you're wondering, we're into the beginning of January at this point), my tooth comes in, I get it placed, and off I go. Or so I think.

We are now at my next dental check-up in March. I ask them about some slight gum discoloration over the tooth in question, and they get worried looks on their faces. Ah crap. After taking x-rays, they find that they didn't get all of the root and that what's left is now nasty and infected. I'm given a prescription for an antibiotic, the anti-anxiety med, and brought in yet again for the root canal. Only my dentist won't be performing the procedure as she'll be on maternity leave. It's going to be a man who's retired but who comes in to cover for her when she has babies. So here we go again. And it's even worse this time because of the infection - they have to drill out more than just where the root is both in depth and breadth. Did I mention that you can hear them basically roto-rooter-ing out your skull and it sounds like it's up behind your nose? Yeesh. So back to the temporary cap for two weeks and then to the real thing. At this point, I quit going to this dentist because, seriously.

I avoid the dentist successfully for nearly a year. Yesterday, I finally bit the bullet and went in for a cleaning and check up. And guess what they found? That tooth? Yeah, it's awful looking on x-ray. It has huge gaps between the porcelain crown and the post for the root canal and there are odd white marks up at the top of said post. Oh yeah! So now I get to go to a specialist to get a second opinion and then possibly have him do yet another bloody root canal on the same bloody tooth. I will be unconscious this time if they need to do this again. Oh, let's add insult to injury by the new dentist finding that a cavity filled by previous dentist actually cracked my tooth and I'll now need a crown on it. What in the what!?

So, that's a long and hideous story about how you don't ever want to be me in the confines of a dentist's office. Sheesh. I know this is an incredibly horror story of epic proportions, but does anyone else have dental horror stories they want to share?