I have a broken tooth.
My mother, a violent drunken narcissist, hated dentists and thought teeth were temporary and everyone should have dentures. Consequently, my siblings and I never went to a dentist, my mother didn’t buy us toothbrushes nor insist we brush our teeth. One day, feeling brave, I told my mother I needed to see a dentist because I had a cavity. I was 16. The dentist wanted to explain to my mother what work needed to be done on my teeth. She stood outside the room, did her melodramatic attempt to look frightened, and told me – over and over – that I should have all my teeth taken out and get dentures. I refused. That was an act of bravery. This demand that I have all my teeth removed was made periodically and I always refused. Losing a tooth means my mother wins. I cannot let my mother win.
The dentist used nitrous oxide and one day, I had a bad reaction and threw up. Vomit landed on my blouse and in my hair. My mother made me go to school wearing that vomit. I was 16. A junior in high school. Dressed in vomit.
My mother was a horrible person. When I reached puberty, I got my first pimple. It was on the end of my nose. My mother announced the fact to my siblings, and then told them I looked just like a witch. I didn’t say anything. Just got my coat and went out to wait for the school bus. I was 12. She bought me clothes that were a few sizes too big and bras that were a few sizes too small. She called me fat ass. I weighed 103 pounds. She called me selfish and lazy. I had no social life because I always had to babysit my siblings while she and her husband went out and drank themselves into a stupor. When my siblings got an allowance, I didn’t. After a few weeks, in another moment of bravery, I asked to have an allowance. When her husband beat me with a belt, she made no effort to stop him. A couple days later, she asked how I got belt-shaped bruises. I was too embarrassed to tell her so I just said that she knew how I got the bruises.
Now, I have a broken tooth. My dentist told me she might not be able to restore the tooth and it may have to be extracted. I told her I wanted the tooth restored. As she looked at my tooth, another piece broke off. The break went clear down to the bone. She told me the prognosis for a crown was horrible. It would be expensive, time consuming, and I’d end up losing the tooth in a couple years.
I cried. I told her I have a repeating nightmare about having a tooth break and having to have the tooth removed. I told her about my mother and how she demanded I have all my teeth pulled and get dentures.
My options are a bridge or an implant. The dentist told me that many insurance plans won’t pay for an implant, and implants are expensive. A friend had a horrible experience with an implant and I’m reluctant to have an implant. Plus, I’d have the tooth extracted, wait for that to heal, have a post installed, wait for that to be healed, then have a crown put on the post. A process requiring a minimum of three months. With a bridge, I’d have the tooth extracted, wait for my gum to heal, then a bridge would be made. She told me the bridge would last the rest of my life. I have to choose one bad option or the other bad option. As I type this, I think that a bridge would be the best bad option.
I hate my mother. She’s been dead five years, and she is still hurting me. At least I won’t have to listen to her gloat about my broken tooth and once again demand I have all my teeth taken out and get dentures.
For me, art is therapeutic. I think I need to make a quilt about my tooth. I’ve been working in my sketchbook, but I haven’t discovered a design that works. Either I need to keep sketching and letting my hand put on paper what’s in my heart, or I need to take a couple days off and then look at today’s designs again.
The Mad Hatter’s Tea Pot
My store, Deb Thuman Art, can be found here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
My Spoonflower shop can be found here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com
Deb's Art 