Dental Hell

I'm not sure if this is obvious to people, but if you're going to do any kind of traveling in the third world one of the most important things you can do is take care of your teeth. I've been very lucky, but I can tell you that I've heard some horror stories about people who've had to visit dentists in Central America, and I can only imagine what a tooth extraction would be like in, say, Cambodia.

I usually schedule a routine checkup and cleaning before I head out. I've been lucky in the past because I've always had dental insurance, but this time I'm one of the 45 million uninsured Americans who's got to pony up for his medical care. So I opened up the good ol yellow pages and let my fingers do the walking.

After a few phone calls, it became apparent that I was going to be spending at least $100 for a simple cleaning and a 10 minute consultation with a dentist. Being a cheap bastard, I figured I'd shop around to get the lowest possible price.

I think you probably know where this is going.

Eventually, I found a newspaper ad for a $99 cleaning, dentist consultation, and complete set of X-rays. Somehow, this seemed like a good idea at the time. Now that I'm thinking about it, I should have probably been alarmed when they told me they had a few open appointments that day and could take my pick. Alas, I am a fool.

I went in at 3:30 and filled out all the paperwork. I explained to the woman behind the desk that I was leaving for an extended trip to Africa and I just wanted to make sure I didn't have any nasty surprises. She was very understanding and when I gave her the 30 second schtick on Kiva she was really into it.

After a few minutes spent reading US Weekly (K-Fed is such a pussy), the dentist called me in and I followed her to one of the stations. With a thick Russian accent, the Humpty-Dumpty shaped dentist asked me about any pain I'd been having, if I smoked, etc. After an brief exchange of pleasantries, she instructed me to lean back and open my mouth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her grab a pointy silver tool with a hook on the end. She took this utensil and began to stab me repeatedly in the mouth. Within seconds I could taste the blood.

My mouth was literally exploding with pain every time she jabbed me. As I sit here typing this, I can still feel my gums throbbing. The amazing thing is that I just sat there taking it. Isn't it ridiculous how you lull yourself into a false sense of security just by thinking "Well this person is a professional. She must know what she's doing." I find myself thinking the same thing in New York City taxis as they drive 90 down Broadway on the wrong side of the yellow line. But I digress.

So there she is, poking the shit out of my mouth and making these "Mmm hmm" sounds. Eventually she hands me a mirror and says, "I want you to see what I'm doing here."

Preparing for a scene out of Saw II, I slowly bring the mirror up to my face and I'm greeted with a mouthful of teeth that are redder than Bill Clinton at a cigar convention.

"See," she says as she drives the little sword in between two molars, "You bleed every time I poke you. I'm sorry to tell you this but you have gum disease."

"You stupid bitch," I said, "If I took out my Leatherman and stabbed you in the face you'd bleed like a stuck pig, but that doesn't mean you have face disease does it?"

Yeah right I said that. No, I just sat there and nodded, dumbfounded by a mixture of pain, disbelief, and shock at the fact that I'd just been diagnosed with a disease. I mean, I'm not saying I'm Dr. Teeth or anything, but I practice pretty good dental hygiene. I brush twice a day and floss maybe once a week (yeah, yeah, I know I should do it every day). My point, however, is that while my teeth may not be perfect it's not like they look like this.

Humpty-Dumpski DDS went on to tell me that her "professional diagnosis" was that I have middle stage periodontal disease. Her recommendation was that I come in for four separate treatments where they would do a periodontal scrape of a quarter of my mouth each time. Each visit would cost $210 for a grand total of $840 by the time she was done. Then she showed me my X-rays and told me some story about my jaw bone receding or something.

Of course, my immediate inclination was to go home and get on WebMD to find out exactly how full of shit this woman was. After spending about 20 minutes talking about various payment plans she offered I managed to politely extricate myself and my shredded gums from her office and we headed home to do some research.

Needless to say, I don't think I have periodontal disease. Maybe a little gingivitis, but nothing a little floss and some listerine won't fix. However, I have learned a valuable lesson from this experience, and that is this:

Bargain basement medical care is not a sound investment.

Take it to heart, boys and girls. Your mouth will thank you.

Posted by flow Frazao on January 25, 2006 at 09:28 PM in Little Stories, Me | Permalink