Monday afternoon I said goodbye to an old friend, my passenger side lower twelve- year
-old molar (#31). We’d had a long relationship; one I thought would last a lifetime. I guess it did, but my tooth’s life turned out to be shorter than mine. She’d been a part of me so long, I don’t even remember when she arrived in my life. But, somewhere around the age of twelve, my molar erupted as a shiny, pearly perfect tooth, ready to masticate.
Not long after her arrival, she was shackled by metal bands as the second phase of my eight year orthodontic adventure began . It was the old days of full metal jackets, wires and rubber bands that were anything but invisible. I had the full complement of night gear and retainers.
Cleaning in between all those wires was difficult and #31 suffered decay. It was a painful experience for both of us, the drilling and filling, but it was for our own good. It was the days of dentistry before painless fillings and anesthesia wasn’t always used. As a kid I actually feared the Novocaine shots more than the drill, so I went without.
Eventually the bands came off and at the age of fourteen, when most of my friends were just getting their braces, mine came off revealing a perfect smile. I remember my Grandpa Farner remarking as he admired my high school graduation photo “Her teeth sure did turn out nice.” It was then I learned my grandparents helped cover the cost of my dental work.
After the braces came off, life went on for me and my teeth. For the most part I kept up regular dental visits and cleanings to insure that I was a good steward of my parents’ and grandparents’ investment. I made sure my own children’s teeth were maintained. The advent of military dental insurance made it much easier for us than for my parents.
About the time Maggie and Andy were getting their braces, it was time to enter another 
chapter with #31. I was eating popcorn one evening when a chunk of it broke off leaving a very jagged edge. Mortified by the event, I went to the dentist the next day and began preparation for my first crown. Many of my friends came back from duty stations in Hawaii with beautiful gold bracelets. Me, I came back with a beautiful gold crown. The funny thing is that I loved it! It felt so smooth against my tongue and the cuspids were a work of art. I thought this full gold covering would protect us forever.
About a year later, after we’d moved back to the mainland and #31 was giving me some pain. At first it was just a little ache but eventually became a full throb. My new dentist decreed that the nerve was dying and recommended a root canal. So, my beautiful gold crown was drilled through and the procedure completed – twice. I was told I had hooked roots on my teeth which made it difficult to reach all the nerve tissue. The second time worked like a charm and we were happy again, #31 and I, my tongue forever delighting on it’s smooth surface.
Last year after my dental exam, my dentist gave me the bad news. Decay had developed beneath my crown and there was no saving my molar. She said the integrity of the crown had been compromised and now threatened the adjacent tooth.
I was devastated.
It took me nine months to get up the nerve to schedule the extraction.
My appointment was for Monday at 10:30. I took my knitting along to keep my hands busy, releasing nervous energy. Naturally they were running late.
After being sufficiently numbed, the procedure began. #31 seemed to be as reluctant to leave my body as I was to see her go. I sat in the chair, in my usual dental mode, calm and relaxed – a product of many years of practice in dental chairs – listening to the soothing melody of Keali’i Rachel on my IPod. The dentist and her assistant worked methodically and calmly for what seemed like a very long time. I figured that as long as they were calm, I had nothing to worry about.
Eventually, it was over. I was sent home with after extraction care instructions, gauze and my gold crown in a little white envelope.
Four days later, my jaw still aches a bit. My tongue is missing the smooth surface of the crown and is leery of investigating the empty space #31 called home. Each day feels better than the last, and I know that eventually my days will continue without the least thought of missing her.
I know it might seem silly going on and on over a lost tooth. I realize just how lucky I am to have kept my teeth intact for 57 years. I also realize that I could not have done this without the care and sacrifice of those who loved and cared for me when I was young. No matter how I look at it, I know that #31 was a blessing, as are my other teeth.
I’ve done a lot of joking about taking my crown down and trading in the gold for cash. I don’t know how much an old dental crown is worth, but maybe I can get a few dollars for it. Whatever the value, I think I’ll include it in a donation to the Greene County Dental Clinic to in a small way help someone else keep their #31 for 57 years.