The one thing I had been doing my utmost to avoid here in the US was a trip to the dentist. It’s not that I have a dental phobia, but we learned early on from the orthodontics required to maintain the teenager’s braces that US dentistry is not cheap, and that our insurance policy would cover us for very little. So just like other British ex-pats I’ve met, I have continued to visit my own UK dentist for routine check-ups on trips back home. On my last visit I was warned that I had a couple of fillings that needed replacement and I agreed I would have the work done next time – after all, I joked, I’ve no intention of seeing a dentist in the US. Definitely not, my UK dentist kindly replied, one look in your mouth and they’ll want to whip everything out. Words that have now come back to haunt me.
I’ll be the first to admit that my teeth aren’t my best feature and coming to California has only made them look decidedly worst. Everyone here, even if they aren’t born with two rows of large perfectly formed pearly whites will have acquired them by the time they finish High School.
On Boxing Day I broke a filling – and whilst that probably wasn’t the end of the world the part of filling that remained in place had a jagged edge which made it painful not just to eat but I could hardly talk. I reasoned with myself that whilst I could realistically manage on a diet of fluids for the seven or so weeks until my next planned UK visit, not speaking would be a killer. I needed a dentist.
After signing my life away on six pages of paperwork and biting my way through 10 x-rays, there followed a bout off hysterical laughter and lots of tutting before I was reluctantly informed by new dental consultant that at the very least the broken filling was a crown and a root canal job. As for everything else, well a couple of sessions of sleep therapy was the answer. Yes whilst under the influence of propofol (“Michael Jackson would still be alive today if I’d been in charge of him” is apparently the latest in-dentist joke) he would not only perform magic on my broken filling, but he would happily stick a crown on the corresponding opposite tooth, replace all my other silver with porcelain, and, as a bonus, whip out my wisdom teeth. And the wonderful thing was, I wouldn’t remember a thing.
Sadly I declined. Whilst I might well wake up in a state of drug induced euphoric amnesia, I wasn’t sure it would be quite so easy for my husband to forget how I had just spent $3,500 of his hard earned cash.
Half an hour’s negotiation with the insurance assessor and it was agreed just to fix the tooth that was broken. Never mind, she was quick to assure me, my timing was perfect. As the work had to be completed across a couple of appointments I was entitled to use not just the whole of my 2011 insurance allowance but 2012 as well. Lucky me! Just $1000 on the credit card then.
Sorry kids, no trips to Disney for you this year. Mommy's spent the all money on a mega ride in the dentist's chair.
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