Limited to Endodontics - A Dental Story

You've probably never heard of "endodontics" before, which is a good thing since you typically learn what they do right before they do it to you. When I was eight I went flying over the handlebars of my bike and left my front teeth on the street. Since then I've had two root canals to repair the lingering damage and recently I underwent a third procedure which involves a specialist or endodontist actually drilling into my jaw and gum to cap the root itself. I tried to put the experience into a short story, here goes -

“How are we this morning Mr. Scott?”
“A little nervous really.”
“Oh, you’ll do fine, you won’t feel a thing.”
“Less painful than a root canal right?”
“Right, less painful than a root canal.”

Dr.Clark removes the cotton swab from my gums, its sour ointment paves the way for the Novocaine needle which will allow her arsenal of autoclaved implements unwincing access to the bone line. The needle is fine and fast, overlapping ripples of numbness make my tongue a stranger in its home. Here we will pause, X-rays will be taken with an awkward bite guide and a comforting lead blanket, questions will be asked regarding what I can no longer sense about the fore of my palate.

“It all feels like a walnut shell now.”
“Good, if you feel anything just raise your arm.”
“Mmm-nhh, would it be okay if I listen to my headphones?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve got Shakespeare’s Othello, its for a class”
“Oh.”

At this point Dr.Clark dons a surgical mask, a pair of technical glasses with magnifying protrusions and finally a halogen head lamp, her red hair and blue scrubs all but vanish in the corona. Loda, the long necked assistant places a pair of black-out shades over my eyes. The chair drops with hydraulic oil effortlessness.

“First we will ease the gum back so we can gain access to the base of the root.”
“Uhh-aughhh.”
“It’s not that bad, if it helps I can tell you where we are at as we go along in the procedure.”
“Pleedesed dohnut. I juwz wan ta zohn out.”
“I’m going to ask you to bite down on this”

A cotton log goes between my teeth, my eyes knit shut as latex fingertips linger at points where I still receive sensation. I interlock my fingers and press one thumb against the other in corresponding intensity to the pain I feel. All is fine, all is Othello.

Instruments go in and out with pewter tones, some of them find things to burn, some dig, some scrape. Something with a motor saws at the root, I feel nothing, I only hear the slight change in pitch as it works through denser substances inside my gum. Cassio cannot hold his liquor.

“How ya doing?”
“mmmalllright.”

Dr.Clark calls for “elevators” of various sizes, suggesting something is being scaffolded, the area in question is not much bigger than a lentil but it requires a lot of attending. I distinctly hear the request for bone, what I later learn are tiny amounts deproteinized bovine bone matter, this substance is then packed into the void surrounding the newly shorn root. Toro Bravo. The packing creates a new awareness, Dr.Clark and perhaps Loda are holding my jaw steady and forcing material up into my jaw. The pushing throbs pain into my face, punishing areas well beyond the reach of the Novocaine. I say nothing, an hour into the procedure I am stoic and trying desperately to follow the handkerchief.

The packing finishes, this apparently being the climax of the procedure, I wonder if it was worth saving the tooth. The numbness now has holes in it, I feel the air conditioning drying my gums. Finally the welcome words of cotton and suture, a thread snakes over my cheek, diving and tugging. I imagine the seam of a baseball.

“Not so bad was it?”
“I feel like a hooked fish, like you were under my nostril almost going through”
“We weren’t far”
“Yikes”
“Nice and healthy besides the area we cleaned, not bad really.”

“Wonderful.”