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You Can Chip My Teeth, But You Can’t Chip My Spirit

I don’t remember being in a bar fight, but anything’s possible.

Photo by Caroline LM on Unsplash

There are certain things you don’t want to hear your health providers say.

For example, you don’t want your family doctor to say thoughtfully, “Hm. That’s odd.”

You don’t want your optometrist to say, incredulously, “And you’re not having any trouble seeing?”

You don’t want to hear your gynecologist say, “I’m sorry, the speculum is a little cold.”

Did you know that all of your teeth have a number?

That’s the code that teeth Nazis, a.k.a. “dental professionals”, use to talk about your teeth without you knowing what the hell they’re talking about.

So when my hygienist, Dawn, casually mentioned “that broken number 22” to my dentist, both of them standing over me like I was a dead turtle they’d found in the street, I wasn’t unduly alarmed. In fact, I didn’t think a thing about it until later, when I went home and took a closer look at Prisoner №22.

Tooth number 22 is the lower right pointy one (your “canine” or “eye tooth”, which, I understand the…