A puggin’ tooth is no laughing matter

There is an old Shakespeare sonnet that if I can remember goes something like this, "When daffodils begin to peer, it is the best time of year, but oh, if this puggin' tooth would quit!" Tooth problems are not funny, but they are part of the human condition, sad to say. I myself had a recent respite for a few years from anything really seriously painful, but recently I had a painful bout that I knew in my heart of hearts would probably require that dreaded and expensive procedure known as a root canal.

In my carefree 20s, upon becoming the mistress of my own responsibilities, I didn't visit the dentist for several months. As a child, I had visited an older dentist in Lewes named Horatio Wiltbanks. He was the descendent of early Swedish settlers and is now buried, I believe, in the churchyard of St. Peter's in Lewes. I searched for his tombstone there!

My mother and grandmother had taken me to Lewes one day and showed me the ancient plaques on the houses and told me everything was old there. I was afraid to bite into a peach at Nassau Orchards that summer day, fearing that it might be a couple of centuries overripe. Dr. Wiltbanks of Savannah Road in Lewes was old, too. He didn't believe in novocaine and I stiffened with dread at every six-month appointment.

It came to pass in my 20s that after avoiding the dentist, and not having my parents make me go, I experienced a toothache on the beach one day. A few months passed with intermittent pain, but not too disturbing at first; I once asked a bartender for an aspirin. She wouldn't give me one, but asked me where the pain was. "In my tipping finger," I answered! "It'll cure itself," I told myself, until one blizzardy Friday night in February 1974, when I lived across from the fire department on Rehoboth Avenue in the Moore building above the pharmacy of the same name. The fire siren went off and so did my tooth, with such a force that I writhed on the floor and ate several aspirins.

My mother drove me to Dr. Wiltbanks’ office the next day, which was a snowy Saturday. He was good enough to come out in the blizzard to attend to me, being of Swedish descent and not minding the snow. He didn't believe in root canals like he didn't believe in novocaine. Root canals were probably in their infancy back then, so he simply pulled the tooth!

My teeth were white and straight when I was young, and not even any wisdom teeth had called attention to themselves. However, I've had my share of root canals since then. In Wilmington, there were plenty of dentists and even endodontists (root canal specialists) to choose from, and you could get to one of those as early as the next day. Here in Sussex County with all of the new development, getting a dental appointment is no easy matter these days. The same is true with doctors, specialists and veterinarians.

I have had my favorite avuncular dentist in Wilmington for 35 or more years, but if I want to switch to a new one here, I would have to wait months – if they'll even take me. Usually, I try to find doctors who are fans of my paintings and maybe now, even my writing. I also know of a couple dentists who have my paintings in front of their chairs. (I hope no one comes to associate my art with drilling!)

You may have recently read my article about the expectations of charities on artists, but if I were the first lady, I would help people with dental problems who can't afford to pay for the work. I would even invite dentists who help these people in free clinic events to come to the White House for dinner to honor and reward them. I read one time about a woman who suffered from a toothache for a long time. She stood in line at a two-day free dental clinic. She was last in line and they ended for the day just as it was her turn to get in the chair. Crestfallen, she returned the next day, and her tooth was pulled to end her suffering!

This reminds me of a girl I encountered recently at a cash register in a local store. She said to me while clutching her jaw, "Dental care is only for rich people." This is a sad state of affairs for healthcare in our country!

When I recently ate a spoonful of one of my favorite soups, succotash, and one of the hot, velvety lima bean pillows clung to my bicuspid, producing a 15-minute lightning-bolt sensation in my tooth, I knew it was time. Fortunately, I finally obtained an appointment to a local root canal doctor thanks to the efforts of Taylor and Emily at my upstate dentist office. I finally, hopefully, have found surcease to this current predicament! With an appointment to see a local endodontist, palliative care is on the horizon!

It was bicuspid No. 13. It was and is living up to that infamous number. I'm sorry to say that toothaches do not get better on their own, no matter how much you hope they will. And also, the tooth fairy will never give you enough dollars to get yourself out of this trouble easily.