Day 79
Location 16: London
Jan. 18, 2023
Here's what I look like at 11:32am today:
Notice anything? No, not the overdue haircut, the other thing. No, not the dry skin either! Dammit! My front tooth, you dick. Or rather, the lack thereof. How did this happen? Here's the story...
To understand how I ended up being down a front tooth in London, we have to back up a little:
My cell phone rings. I pick up the phone and the voice on the other end asks an unexpected question: "have you ever tested positive for AIDS?"
Oops, sorry. We have to back up even further, actually. We'll get back to this though.
During my first weekend at college in 2014–on the Sunday before my first class ever–I was playing basketball. Around 6:30pm I was elbowed in the mouth during a game. As we all know, the mouth is pretty high on the body as well as pretty high on the list of where you don't want to get elbowed.
FYI, the full list of worst places to be elbowed is: (1) Balls, (2) anywhere on the head–including the mouth, and (3) that spot on the elbow that makes your body feel inside out for a few seconds.
Anyway, immediately after I get elbowed, my eyes focus on a little white pebble on the basketball court. Or as I more commonly call it, my front tooth.
***
In order to preserve the tooth, the university rec center places my loose tooth in a saline solution ("loose tooth" here doesn't refer to when a baby tooth is on the tooth fairy's most-wanted list and can be maneuvered like a stick shift with your tongue, but but rather "loose" as in separated from my mouth) as we wait for an ambulance (called against my will, out of campus policy).
By the way, later I found out "saline solution" is a high school chemistry term for tap water and table salt. In retrospect, I'm not sure how I feel that the prescription for preserving my tooth coincidentally is also the first step to cooking spaghetti carbonara. Ironically, I’d have gotten better medical care if this accident occurred at the dining hall, where they have filtered water and fresh salt on hand.
Whatever, it's not a big deal. Just the fate of my smile, and every first impression for the rest of my life depending on this.
***
I ended up being okay and tooth #8, the right central incisor, was returned to its rightful spot in my mouth. By "returned", I mean a dentist shoved the tooth into the hole left by its premature departure and leaned all his weight on my head for twenty minutes.
Eventually he finished treating my head like a button on that '80s game show where the contestants would yell "no whammies, no whammies, STOP!" as they slam both hands down on my tooth. I mean the button. Afterwards, he informed me "you'll have to wear temporary braces for two weeks."
The news of braces didn't bother me one iota. It’s not like the first few weeks of college are when anyone is self-conscious about their appearance or worried about meeting people or trying to reinvent their image or anxious about how these next two weeks will impact social life for the next four years which has a direct correlation to what connections are available in their career for the better part of the next decade and ultimately the kind of spouse they can attract and their overall quality of live and happiness. No worries, boss, stick those braces on.
2014: Me at the hospital after my tooth was knocked out for the first time.
***
A few days later, my cell phone rings. I pick up the phone and the voice on the other end asks an unexpected question: "have you ever tested positive for AIDS?". Immediately, it felt like conversational steps were skipped. Or rather, hurdled over with multiple mid-air somersaults.
That’s like walking up to a stranger and asking “were you ever molested as a kid?” The answer’s probably "no". But if it’s "yes", they surely would've appreciated you easing into the topic. It's quite the hands-on approach to getting information. (Maybe hands-on is the wrong phrase for this example).
What happened was: when I was elbowed, the other kid's elbow got cut up by my teeth, and blood may have been exchanged through our respective wounds, so they had to check. This guy knocked out my front fucking tooth, but he's worried about a cut on his elbow. That's like if a bully beat me up and then complained about bruises on his hand. "Sorry, did I hurt your fist with my face?".
Overall, the whole ordeal was very stereotypical of a college freshman experience...(1) I got sweaty with a guy I just met, (2) there was some biting involved, and (3) it all led to an AIDS scare.
Seven years after all that, the tooth had become grey. This was expected. So I went to a dentist who shaved it down, and on top placed an aesthetically-pleasing veneer.
Two years after that (i.e. a few weeks ago) the tooth started becoming extremely loose (this time I do mean like when a baby tooth is on the tooth fairy's most-wanted list and can be maneuvered like a stick shift with your tongue). This was also expected. So I found a dentist who could extract it safely, and put in a temporary replacement until I returned to the United States.
The only problem is that temporary replacement won't be ready for a week after the extraction. So for the next week, I'll be living with one tooth less than the average human.
For those keeping score at home, that means I'm down 1 tooth and part of 1 testicle.
Bonus Photos from the otherwise very nice day including:
Buckingham palace
a perfect example of the old adage "owners look like their pets"
my friend Galit's live, filmed reaction to my new smile that includes the very compassionate "oh my god, you look terrifying!"
