I’m probably in the minority, but I love going to the dentist. The new toothbrush I get is great, but my wonderful dentist gives me something even better. He ends every exam by saying, "Such pretty teeth!" After suffering through two-count ’em, two-rounds of braces to correct seriously buck teeth, that’s music to my ears. 

Another reason I love my six-month checkups is that up until a year ago, I had never had a cavity in my life (I’m working on saying that without sounding smug, but it’s just so hard). Actually, I’m pretty sure it has more to do with good genes rather than any effort on my part.

Because of my relative inexperience with cavities, I didn’t know what it felt like when a cavity developed. So, a few months ago when I noticed some sensitivity in one of my molars, I assumed it was a cavity and promptly made an appointment to get it checked out. An X-ray showed I didn’t have a cavity (my dentist said cavities usually don’t hurt, anyway), so we needed another explanation for the sensitivity. He gave me two.

"Do you grind your teeth in your sleep?" he asked.

I successfully fought back a response along the lines of, "How would I know-I’m asleep!" And since the only creature sharing my pillow these days is my cat, who’s keeping mum on the subject, I honestly answered that I had no idea.

"Let me rephrase that," he said, examining the wear and tear on my pearly whites. "You are grinding your teeth in your sleep, which could be why you’re having some pain in your back teeth. We need to do something before real damage is done."

The answer to that problem is an attractive-sounding appliance called a "night guard." Ooooh, sexy. Pushing aside that thought, I addressed the more important issue: cost. "Oh, it’s not very expensive," my dentist assured me. "Probably not more than $350."

I made a choking sound deep in my throat that had nothing to do with his hands in my mouth.

The other possibility he raised was that my one remaining wisdom tooth, which had no room to break through my gums, was pushing on the nerves of the sensitive tooth in question. Examining the X-ray again, he said, "You should think about getting it out anyway because it could start to absorb the roots of other teeth."

I had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. And the look of horror on the dental hygienist’s face convinced me to follow up with the oral surgeon he recommended.

I actually got lucky in the wisdom tooth department. I was only born with two wisdom teeth-my uppers. One broke through last year (wisdom came late in life for me), causing some discomfort, so my dentist wiggled it out for me. That left only the current bugger to contend with.

When it comes to impacted teeth, however, wiggling them out isn’t an option; an oral surgeon is needed. And after watching a mini-movie at the surgeon’s office, I understood why. The movie people couched it in different terms, but essentially, the doctor intended to slice open my gums, cut the tooth out, and sew me back up again.

The oral surgeon gave me two options for enduring this fun-filled episode: consciousness or unconsciousness. I couldn’t get out the words "put me under" fast enough. As an afterthought, I asked what the price difference was between the two options. I found out that to be rendered senseless cost more than twice the price of just numbing the area-and even that wasn’t cheap to begin with.

A stack of unpaid Christmas bills barely edged out the possibility of a mid-extraction mental breakdown, and I decided to suck it up, be an adult, and stay awake for the procedure. Then I called my mommy and asked her to go with me.

So the wisdom tooth is out and the night guard is in. And I’m out some serious money.

The moral of the story is this: If you develop a sensitivity in any of your teeth, run-do not walk-to the drug store and stock up on ibuprofen. Sure, your dentist will most likely be able to do something about the problem, but wouldn’t you rather save the money for something more important? Like a good shoe sale? TPW