I haven’t been to a dentist in… *counting on fingers* …probably five or six years.
When I did go last time, it was in Parma (where my family no longer lives), and I had several visits’ worth of very deep cleaning. My gums hurt like a bitch for the next couple of days, but I actually felt a lot better about myself afterward. I was even OK with letting loose a big, toothy smile every now and then (even though my teeth are still crooked).
I kept up with my “tooth maintenance” pretty well for a couple years. Brush twice a day, use those crazy orange Stimudent sticks, floss (sometimes), and swish the mouthwash around. It was a pain when I still lived in the dorms and had to cart all my tooth maintenance sundries down to the bathroom, halfway to the other end of the wing. But I digress.
After a while, my tooth maintenance fell by the wayside, and I returned to my old habits. Suffice to say that, if I’m running late in the morning, I’d rather spend two minutes throwing together my lunch than brushing my teeth. My only saving grace at this point is two years of the Atkins diet: no refined sugar. Or, rather, very little — I won’t pretend I don’t ever cheat and buy a cookie or a Frappucino out of the vending machine.
So, from what I can tell (and I’m admittedly not a dental professional), I have much less plaque than I had before. I’ve still got tartar, though, and it’s pretty gross. See, my bottom front teeth are very, VERY unstraight — one grew in almost entirely behind the others, so only one-third of the middle of the tooth is actually showing. Someday it would be cool to have my teeth fixed, I think. Aaron thinks otherwise, since he had braces when he was a kid and didn’t take kindly to it. But, again, I digress.
Here’s the entire reason for this blog entry.
I was in the bathroom just now, examining my bottom front teeth, and being understandably grossed out by the amount of tartar buildup behind the teeth. They all come together in funky ways, and the tartar tends to fill in the cracks where they’re crooked and don’t meet the way they should. It’s weird. Anyway, I stuck a finger in my mouth to pick at it, maybe see how thick the layer of tartar was—
And a piece of tartar CAME OFF.
OMG gross.
What was grosser was that its absence left a weird depression/hole in the normal profile of the back of my teeth. Also, where the tartar had been encroaching on my gums, they were much redder than the rest of my gums. That was also pretty gross. I stood there in the bathroom with an extra pair of tweezers, peering into the mirror and trying to pick off the rest of the chalky tartar behind my teeth.
And I thought to myself, “If Aaron were here, I’d just show him. As it is, I’m probably going to blog this.”
Anybody in the Toledo area know a good dentist or dental hygenist?
…
Some complete stranger is going to find this blog entry and comment on my hygiene like this person commented on my lack of style. Heh. I’ll try not to be offended.
