My First Prosthesis
About a year ago, I had a molar develop a crack in a root, leading to it’s extraction. The extraction went swimmingly, owing to the generous prescription of Percosets, of which I retain more than a few as a palliative against the apocalypse. The pain attached to the event derived from the fact that the tooth sported a gold crown that cost me about $1,000 in 1985 dollars, which crown I foolishly left at the oral surgeon’s in my haste to get home and imbibe my Percosets.
Anyway, today I had an appointment with a Doctor of Maxillofuckyerfaceup in order to explore the beneficence of an implant. My options are to have a “bridge” made, which involves blasting away at the two teeth adjacent to the crater left by last year’s extraction so they can serve as anchors for a three-tooth contraption that they’ll cement in place. Though this is a marked improvement over my grandparents’ unnerving teeth-in-a-jar freak show from my distant youth, it still involves trashing yet another $1,000 gold crown.
So, the dude today describes a process whereby, for $2,000, he’ll drill a hole in my jawbone and pound in a knurled titanium post. The fervent hope is that my jawbone will embrace this titanium post like a Republican’s asshole embraces the male member of an energy lobbyist, and in 4 months my regular dentist can bolt yet another $1,000 crown onto this post.
I’m scheduled to receive this wonder of technology on 6/30, after which, fortified by (hopefully) more Percosets, I’m supposed to see the The Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra at Chop Suey in Seattle . Been a long time since I’ve had to chew a margarita at a music venue, so I don’t anticipate any problems.
