My Mouth Hurts, Y'all: The Story of My Left Front Tooth

Now I had every intention on writing about last night's episode of The Bachelorette.  I'll probably write an additional post about that but this will be the first installment of my "Bethany's Tales" portion of this blog.
Be forewarned that it is in depth...as all Bethany stories can be.


It all started in 2nd grade when I tripped over David Tuberville's foot and smashed my face into the the sidewalk breaking my left front (your right, my left) tooth across a nerve.  It wasn't pretty.  I'm really not sure who was more disturbed by the incident, me or Mrs. Morgan my teacher/family friend.  By the time my mother came to rush me off to the dentist Mrs. Morgan could've used a bottle glass of wine or two as she was pretty shaken up.


Once I made it to Dr. Hopson's office he said "Didn't your cousin do this too?"  She did.  Same tooth.  So he does some sort of magic and puts a "composite" on my tooth making it good as new.  Later that night I went on to win First Place in the school science fair for my project "Which Freezes First?" (Spoiler alert: it's bridges and overpasses) but I digress.  The composite on my tooth held up until the summer before 5th grade where it fell off while I was snorkeling in my pool.  I'm not sure what I thought I'd find down there but nonetheless I had to go to my tennis lesson looking like I'd been in a bar fight before my tooth could be fixed again.


One night when I was in the 5th grade, I was awoken by a terrible pain in my tooth.  This was the first time I ever took Advil and I had to chew it up.  The inside of Advil tastes like chalk, don't do it.  It turns out that I needed a root canal.  You know when people say "I'd rather have a root canal than (insert unpleasant activity)" they aren't kidding around.  Those things are not fun....especially when you are 10-years-old.  The doctor I went to had a screen you/he could see what he was doing.  Again, it was not pretty.


Fast forward a few years to Junior year of high school and I'm about to have my Senior pictures taken.  I had noticed that my tooth had darkened a shade or two and when I asked my big girl dentist, he said we could internally bleach it.  I made an appointment to have Dr. Weakley drill a hole in the back of my tooth (don't worry, there aren't any nerves in there!), pump some bleach in, and then rinse it out a day or two later.  As crazy as it sounds it really doesn't hurt and it worked like a charm...


...Until just recently when I noticed it was starting to get a little weird again.  Everyone else says they really can't tell but it bothers me so I wanted to do another round with Dr. Weakley.  Long story short--he drills into my tooth only to close it back up due to my tooth's "resorption."  What does that mean you ask?  Oh ya know, just that my tooth is eating itself from the inside and I could end up with a hillbilly tooth someday.  I was quite proud of myself for not crying at the news! 


That catches us up to today.  Today, I went to see an endodontist....aka root canal doctor.  He was a lovely man however he is in serious need of some soundproofing for his waiting room.  I was a little freaked out sitting there listening to drills and other torture devices while filling out my paperwork.  I was under the impression that today was a consultation--a let's poke around your mouth for a minute type deal.  I was sadly mistaken.  Dr. Webber tells me the only way he can really see what's going on with my tooth is to poke around...on the INSIDE!  After he gives me one painful and one somewhat painful shot to the gums/roof of the mouth he goes to town.  Drilling.  Sanding.  Frankly I haven't the faintest idea what he really did in there because I kept my eyes shut as tight as I could and my whole body tensed to prevent my shaking arms/legs from moving my mouth (or letting them know I was freaking out).  I'm not sure if it would've been better to have prepared for this or not but I was rather shaken up.  He said he got all of the bad tissue that he could.  He also likened my tooth to a "rotten tree with termites" (thanks?) and that resorption is "not cancer, but kind of like it."  I was proud of myself for not crying until I got into the car.


Curse you, David Tuberville. 


So there you have it ladies and gentlemen.  I may one day be walking around with a gold tooth, or no tooth at all!  Please still be my friends.