The Quasi-Bionic Djinn

Up until I was 18 years old I had great teeth, not even one cavity. And then it all changed. Probably my less healthy diet, but I really never knew for sure. Suddenly I had a plethora of decay and fillings. By the time I came to California in 1981, I still had my teeth (except for a couple of wisdom teeth that did not fully develop), but they were filled with gold, amalgam and man made porcelain type products. My father thought this was mighty fine, as he had lost all his teeth in his 20s, and was wearing dentures while he fought in WWII.

I had a wonderful dentist from about 1982 until hummm, I can't exactly remember, the early 2000s, I am thinking, Roy Nakaiye. We even dated a couple of times; I met his lovely family, but I just did not see us as a couple. He stayed my dentist until he retired to Florida (he was an avid fisherman) and sold his practice. I did not like the crew that replaced him, who seemed to have checklists of all the cosmetic dentistry that they felt needed to be done for the outrageous prices that these non-urgent repairs required. They called and sent me notes of such a number and caliber that I considered they were less concerned about the well being of my mouth than of the well being of their pocket books. Although not necessarily a wise decision on my part, I avoided them henceforward and had no dentist for three years or so.

Mr. Anonymous of the Deluxe Furnished Barbara Judith Apartments had the same problem I did--for Roy became his dentist as well upon his transplantation from NY to LA. It was he who introduced me to my new dental office, Hanna Hoseli. When a dental pain became too much to bear, I sought her out. I fell in love, with the office, with the receptionist/office manager, he sister, and with the fact that I was always the only one waiting as the prior patient left--Hanna's approach was that each patient required her full attention, for a full hour at least, and there was no serial seeing, or it was limited. And she worked with steady hands and a quiet patience. After only a few visits, she became ill (she later died at far too young an age of brain cancer), and the young woman she hired to stand in for her while she fought her battle Nicola Malik, was in her mold, although she had not been licensed that long. I hated to lose Hanna, but I knew Hanna wouldn't select someone who wasn't a chip off the old block. I had let a germinating problem fester into a big one, an old root canal that had fluctuating pain. It would hurt. I'd take aspirin. It would go away, and then the cycle would begin again, until it hurt just too much. It was a tooth that Hanna had recommended I see a specialist over--of course I didn't.

By the time Dr. Malik saw me, she told me the root was fractured and the tooth, pretty well infected, couldn't be saved. She referred me to an oral surgeon, Dr. David Salehani in Beverly Hills (apropos of nothing, it was the building where in a Hamburger Hamlet I saw my very first LA celebrity, back in 1978, Michael Callan--anybody remember him?). He pulled the tooth, in a most elaborate display of surgical care, cleanliness, etc, but they still pull a tooth with what looks like a pair of pliers. My other teeth were ok, so I wasn't going to have any removed for a bridge. So onward to the dental implant, which is quite the process. I had a bone graft that day (I had to stop him for a little more information when he used the word 'cadaver'; you see the material is made from cadavers, along with some synthetics--thank you whoever's bone I now have integrated into my upper small molar space), and the I waited for three months to see if the graft would take. It did.

So yesterday, was the second, biggest part of this process--the actual implant. Yes, essentially it is a screw that is put into the space where your root used to be--and this is done after drilling a nice little canal into that newly replaced or edified bone area. It's all just below the sinus (you shoulda seen the consent form!). But I felt secure somehow. This doctor is young (if he's forty I'd be surprised), with just enough gray at his temples to allow for a sigh of relief and his calm is profound. The office is high tech and spare. The implant--it's made of titanium, right out of the Bionic man, or woman, in this case. It took all of 45 minutes for the whole process, which included a few moments to twist the screw into place such that I felt like I was a tire--I could hear the click, click, click until it tightened.

I was expecting a fair amount of discomfort when the local wore off, I mean, the man used massive drills right into my bone and there's a screw in my face now to which in another three or four months, assuming the implant "takes" which he thinks likely, will be added a crown.  But except for a bit of throbbing an hour or two after the surgery--I admit I took ibuprophen with codeine, just in case, because I was going to a Dodger game with Lenspeaks, I woke up this morning with nearly no discomfort, except for the sites where the needles went in to numb me up.

So, here I am, the happy quasi-bionic Djinn.