by Freddy C » Thu Aug 23, 2007 11:32 pm
Before Dr Nelson, I also went across the street to Dr Sims. The previous dentist occupying that second story office was a man named Stelgist. Dr Stelgist was old and slow; must have been in his sixties circa 1962. Dr Sims was young and fast, too fast. He worked by the clock. If you were in at 2:30, you had better be out of the chair by 2:45. Seems as if he also saw the Porche parked in Harvey Nelson's alley, and he wanted one too, and quick !
Once, I had a molar that contained a huge filling. It was my chewing gum molar, the one I used to crack those gumballs. "Ohhh, bad tooth here", said Dr Sims, breathing his tuna on rye sandwich from Joe's luncheonette into my face. "That's gotta come out". I had never lost a tooth before, (nor since) and it bothered me that this was about to happen right then, just being in my teens.
While he eagerly laid out the hammers and sickles and the like, I interrupted, "But Doc, can't you save it, can't you do a root ~~"? He looked at me like I was nuts. My Mom was paying him by the week at that time, and a root ~~ was costly. "How you gonna pay for it?", he asked, no doubt with visions of Nelson's Porche dancing around in his head. With reality starring me in the face, I replied, "Ah, go ahead and pull the damn thing". Well, you could've blown the work whistle, because he sprung into action like a Japanese patriot assembling a Kamikaze fighter. Without missing a beat, he was in my mouth with a sophisticated pair of pliars, and a look on his face that had a little too much enthusiasm for my liking. Well, that molar was a stubborn little ~~. It was in there for some fourteen years, and it wasn't giving up easily.
Before I knew it, he was up straddling the chair with his knee in my chest, and two hands on the pliers. His nurse was around behind me with some kind of strap across my forehead, holding my head firmly against the headrest. I felt like I was going to be drawn and quartered at any moment. All the while this aspiring millionaire was looking at the clock as if I was keeping him from a heavy date with destiny. He pulled until his face was red; he was biting his lower lip and grunting like he had just gone ten rounds with Jake Lamotta. But that molar wouldn't budge. He decide to take an x-ray. I guess he thought there was something bionic going on down below the gum line.
Turns out I have curved roots. He told me the right way to do it was an oral surgeon. That would be an expense. There was only one other way.
With the nurse re-gripping the strap, and him with a firm grip on the pliars, he gave my tooth a quick twist. "Crack!" That was it. Most of my tooth was in the pliers, including one of the roots. With a little digging, he retrieved the other piece of root. He told me to rinse out my mouth into the little round sink with the swirling water. It was the most blood I had ever shed up to that point in my life. The experience left me shaken. When I left his office, I made up my mind I was never coming back. I also made an oath to give up chewing gum; no way was it worth it. Two weeks later a sliver of tooth worked its way out of my gum, through the gum wall. I was amazed.
From then on, I went to Dr Nelson. I figured he already had his trendy car, and maybe I'd have a better chance of keeping the rest of my teeth. Most of my subsequent check-ups revealed only minor cavities, so I consider myself lucky. Eventually, after marrying and moving to Florida, I found a nice Jewish dentist who made a permanent bridge to fill that gap in my teeth. All of my dental experiences since then have been uneventful. But as long as I live, I'll never forget that time in my youth, when Dr Sims excavated my poor gumball molar.