Monday, December 16, 2013

Whatever: I'm getting an implant

18 years ago, I went on a date with the cutest boy in the entire world.
I knew he was the one for me after that fateful date.
Not because he was smart, funny and interesting. (He was all of those things.)
But because after I fell down 150 feet head over heels down the side of a cliff in the Smokey Mountains, he cried. He cried because I was alive. 
Bloody, beaten to hell, and missing a tooth, but alive.

Then he drove me to the dentist. 
And the ER. And got my prescriptions filled. 
Sat on the toilet while I scrubbed tree bark out of my legs in the bathtub.
Slept on the other end of a sectional with me. 
And never laughed when I whistled while I talked.

The good old days of me with my original tooth

My accident was bad. Three broken or chipped teeth, lots of goose eggs and scrapes so bad that the ER nurse thought I had been in a motorcycle accident. I still have scars and at least one spot where I am pretty sure I chipped the bone on my knee. The bright side was the quick confirmation that I loved this boy with all my heart and our relationship moved up a level. Three months later, we were cohabitants in  a new town. 

18 years later, I am still dealing with those damn teeth.

This morning, I went and got the news that I need a metal screw put into my jaw and a new front tooth.
Not what I really wanted for Christmas (or for 6 months after, which is the time line for the entire  process). 
The brightside is that after 18 years, three crowns, two surgeries and a lot of not biting things with my front teeth, I will have a very nice front tooth. 
 That is the end of that story.

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