Minding the gap

I spent a good portion of the afternoon arguing with the agent from the dental insurance company whose policy starts tomorrow (required to complete my ACA order) to try and establish my “assigned dentist.”

Good grief, I can still remember trying to buy regular health insurance (the Golden Rule plan I’d be replacing) when I first moved to Maryland and before the aforementioned “Care Act” took effect. It was a nightmare (which I don’t feel like repeating here), but was still easier than signing up for Obamacare. Seriously, 20 different policies from TWO different companies PLUS I had to choose separate vision and dental plans – why have one monthly bill when you can have three?

No, you can’t skip these two steps – I tried, and ended up delaying coverage for about 2 weeks (and being woken up by phone calls at 9am every morning for said two weeks saying “it’s time to finish enrollment” which I thought was already taken care of). #endrant

Back to my original story: apparently, there is only ONE in the entire metro Orlando area () – even though there were AT LEAST four offices within a 20-minute bus ride of me which claimed they accepted plans from that company, but nope agent on the phone insisted there was only one in-plan dentist in a 25-mile radius “…unless you want the Premium Plan.”

Seriously considered telling him to forgot it as I really didn’t want the plan to begin with. The good news is: it gives me an excuse to switch practices (which you read about in my “dental” category). The bad news is: I’m on my own for finding it… as long as I’m willing to pay “a little bit extra” for another plan… and wait a full year before true coverage kicks in (so that extracted tooth – from LAST FEBRUARY – isn’t getting capped for another year).

But, hey, at least I get to call them back tomorrow…

A pre-holiday cleaning

I was going to fly back to Pennsylvania this past weekend…actually Baltimore since it’s a direct flight and it gives me a chance to see the 2^nd to last home game of 2016 for the Baltimore Blast (playing the Central Florida Tropics, no less).

Unfortunately, just as I was about to make said plans, I found I had a dentist’s appointment today so that threw everything off. 😦

My day was perfect – except the appointment itself as they had new hygenist on staff who dismissed my objection to the Ultrasonic cleaning (it HURTS my ears).

“You’re here for a cleaning and that’s what this does – it cleans your teeth – using sound waves. That’s the best way to clean molars and your molars need it. Besides, YOU’RE the one who said he wanted outta here ‘as quickly as possible’ and sound waves are extremely efficient as they travel through your teeth.”

But the worst part (my perspective anyway) was when she mocked me for asking her to not pat my shoulder “sympathetically” when asking questions, she knew it impossible for me to answer.

“What am I supposed to do,” rolling her chair into the counter while shaking her hands in the air melodramatically. “Treat you from 50 feet away? I’m a friendly person – and I have to clean your teeth and there is no way to do that without touching you in any way.”

Then she begins my least favorite part of these visits: the scaling and “depth of tissue” measurements (jabbing my gums with the scalpel in several locations until we get blood and then schedule me for another quarterly cleaning because we got blood during the cleaning). The plus side is she offered me a “numbing gel” so I “wouldn’t feel anything” for the duration of the visit.

I wasn’t sure what to say since this was the first time they offered this to me for a hygienist visit – even during the Prophylactic Scaling. However, when I stopped her during the jabby portion and asked why I was feeling that when she assured me I “wouldn’t feel anything,” she pulls her mask down and replies:

“Because you hemmed and hawed ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know’ (I said no such thing) so I gave you only a little bit and it did take the sting out of the procedure” (actually, it just felt like I had Chap Stick on my gums).

Finally, she takes the bib off, lifts the chair and hands me a poorly photocopies “Medical History” form. She shrugs, gives me a vague “we need a new copy for our records” and sends me out to reception again.

The bill seemed higher than I previously remembered, and while I wasn’t impressed with my visit – any appointment that I’m not physically assaulted is technically a good one.

Not even a lollipop

Woke up in a relatively good mood this morning (which is extremely rare for me), and the first post I saw on FB was an uplifting meme listing “positive traits” of people with Dyslexia\ADHD\Aspergers (I’m all three) … and got “Sad-Mad” (to quote the movie Home) as most of them didn’t apply to me.

I look up and it’s 9am, and I can’t leave yet because I need to finish the laundry I started yesterday so I have clean clothes to match my hopefully clean teeth. When the drier finally buzzed, I pulled everything out, hurriedly showered, got dressed and raced downstairs to the approaching trolley.

I’m not a runner, but I didn’t have time to wait “45 minutes” for the next trolley. I get to the corner exactly as the driver gets to the stop and then I really have to move getting within feet of the stop…just to have him shut the door and lurch the bus forward before opening the door again. Hilarious.

“Of course I saw you, dumbass,” he said as if he actually expected me to laugh “with” him. I drop the quarter in the box and could feel everyone staring at me as if their obviously amused smiles would make this less awkward. It doesn’t.

The driver lets me off at Sandlake and International at 10:43am. According to Google Maps, it’s a “21-minute” walk from there to my dentist’s office, but I somehow made it to his door at exactly 11am – hot, sweaty, and exhausted, but exactly on time.

I’m not a fan of going to the dentist – especially after a root canal, an extraction and a prophallactic something (which sounds a lot more fun than it actually is). Fortunately, my teeth and gums are “recovering nicely” (or so the doctor I’ve never seen before told me), but I still needed a half-hour of poking, prodding and scraping that unlike haircuts never actually gets easier (hair is dead, my mouth isn’t). Now I have to schedule a 90-minute bridge installation for either Thanksgiving or my birthday – yah!

The first thing I did after escaping the awkward conversation with the receptionist was get lunch (not even a lollipop). I wanted something fast and there was a McDonalds on the way to Wal-Mart (my next stop) so why not? It was fast and it was food so that was all that really mattered to me.

It’s a long walk (with zero shade) from Sandlake to Wal-Mart, but I survived, entered the store and made a beeline for the watch area where the sole woman working there semi-busily goes between unloading boxes to chatting with passing coworkers to telling customers (all of whom arriving at the counter AFTER I did) at the jewelry end of the counter she can’t help them to disappearing into the back room until after 10 minutes of waiting she finally decides to get rid of help me.

“Do you need help with anything,” she said more as a formality than an actual question.

“The battery on my watch died about two days ago.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t fix watches here. Where did you buy it from?”

“Wal-Mart,” I replied knowing full well if I said anywhere else she’d tell me to “just take it there.”

“We don’t fix watches,” she said flatly. “Try some other store. Florida Mall or something.”

“In other words, I came out here for nothing.”

She shrugs and goes back to half-heartedly unpacking boxes and chatting with passing coworkers.

I leave the store empty-handed and I would have walked back to I-Drive, but there was, conveniently enough, a cab parked directly in front of the store.

I get in and give him the address. He looks at me like I’m nuts, but starts the cab anyway.

“I am not familiar with that address,” he said with a soft yet indeterminate accent. “You will TELL me where to go. Where do I go? Left here?”

“Right,” I corrected.

“Okay, I will turn left at exit to store.”

I swear, I’m the only one who listens to me… either that or I’m trapped in the least funny episode of Seinfeld EVER.

“No, I said turn RIGHT at exit to store.”

“So, right here?”

“Yes, then left at the next exit.”

“Okay.”

“You can’t miss it, it’s the building on the left with the bright green metal roof. Of course, I said that to the last driver too and he still…”

“Who it is you [are] babbling at? I need directions, and you are babbling incoherently while I am trying to drive.”

It’s never pleasant being reminded of how others see\hear me. Important? Yes; Pleasant? No as it puts a damper on otherwise polite conversation.

“So you say ‘go right at exit,’” he asked interrupting my brooding inner monologue.

“No, I said ‘turn LEFT at the exit.’ If you go right, you’ll ne…”

He screeches to a halt in the middle of the busy road, turns around and points at me angrily.

“Do you want me to ‘go left’ or ‘go right,’” he snaps. “Which one is it, or do you not know where [the] fuck you [are] going?”

If we weren’t in the middle lane, I would have gotten out, but I’m not partial to getting killed by a speeding car. Moreover, if the big sticker on the window reads “passenger is responsible for all tolls and fees,” who would be “responsible” (I already know who he’d blame) if a car rear-ended us because of HIS stunt?

He starts the cab again and begrudgingly crosses lanes to the rightmost “left-turn” lane just a few hundred yards before the turn and then immediately gets back into the right-turn lane for whatever reason. I ask why he is in the right lane with his right blinker on when the building I requested was obviously to his LEFT so he growls, goes back into the center lane and eventually into the right “left-turn” lane.

Once he got on Westwood, even he could figure out where he was supposed to go (as it’s literally the only “bright green metal roofed building” on the street). I wasn’t planning on giving him a tip, but the fare came to $13.50 (which explains his desire to do a circle tour of I-Drive) and I had three 5s so he was getting a 90-cent “tip” (he forgot to turn his meter off when we were stopped) anyway. I exit the cab, and while he was leaving I traipsed over to the mailboxes and pull two bills and the usual cadre of junk mail that fills the entirety of my tiny mailbox on a daily basis (except Sunday) and head back to the unit.

I came back inside, toss both bills on the counter and open Facebook just to have my “okay” mood spoiled by another uplifting meme about “sharing my thoughts” as it’s a concept which has gotten me in trouble a few times this year (as my thoughts are nothing more than “manipulative lies” designed solely to make people “feel sorry” for me… until they finally realize “the sad fucking joke” that I apparently am).

I look up from my laptop and see it’s pouring rain outside. It’s okay, I had enough sunshine today anyway…

Pro-galactic ninja sailing

“Sorry for being late,” I said running up to the counter still somewhat out of breath. “I have an appointment for 1 o’clock with the hygienist.”

I give her my name and appointment time to the young brunette with the navy blue scrubs with the words “dental hygienist” emblazoned on her right breast and she just shakes her head and asks “are you SURE you’re a patient here? I’m not showing anything for you or any appointments for 1pm.”

“My name is Bonnie,” said the older blond-headed woman in the lab coat standing behind the counter. “I’M the hygienist, and I don’t have any appointments this afternoon.”

“Wait, are you ‘Jonathan,’” the brunette receptionist asked. “First visit was in February and last visit was March the 12^th?”

“Yeah, I guess…” (as contrary to popular media stereotypes, not everyone with Autism has a photographic memory for dates and times).

“Okay, great… but it’s still not showing you as having an appointment today.”

“Bah, whatever,” Bonnie said walking away from the counter exasperatedly. “Just bring him back, I don’t have anything for the afternoon anyway.”

When I met her on the other side of the reception area, I explained to her that I had been trying to get an appointment with her for the past week (which I’m told is pretty good for a hygienist).

“Oh, of course,” she said. “First our voicemail went down, and now we can’t get e-mail. I swear, the whole system is a mess.”

As she led me towards the treatment room, I explain to her how loud, high pitched noise drives me mad, and is one of the primary reasons I try to avoid dentists. In fact, I could hear her working on someone on my last visit, and it was pure torture for me.

“Thankfully, I have nothing to worry about as I was just here for a simple cle-”

“‘Cleaning,’” she asked incredulously as I sat down in their long vinyl chair. “Honey, your file says you’re here for a prophylactic supragingival scaling for removal of plaque infected calculus [yes, I looked it up]. Your dentist should have explained that to you, but that doesn’t matter now. I’ll be back with a copy of your chart and a rough cost estimate…”

Pro-galactic super-ninja sailors are infecting my plaque with Calculus?

I knew math was tough, but this was getting scarier by the second. Her insistence on touching my shoulder “reassuringly” during the exchange wasn’t helping. In fact, it makes it worse, but there is no real way to tell her that without sounding like a jerk.

“It is $285 per quadrant with insurance, plus the cost of anesthesia. Yes, I know that SOUNDS like a lot, but I don’t have to do your entire mouth in one sitting. You know, I’ll be back in a few minutes, and you can give me an answer then.”

In fact, most dental websites I visited to write this post recommend NOT doing the entire mouth at once… but I didn’t know that going in so I said “half” mostly because she said a “full treatment” would take “between 2-3 hours.” Heck, that extraction was only 40 minutes, and my jaw was sore for the rest of the week.

“First thing we’re going to do is take some measurements,” Bonnie said in an innocuous way that sounded more and ominous as she continued. “That way, we have a record so we can watch you and track your progress between visits.”

After several uncomfortable minutes of poking, prodding and scraping with a bonus “burning” smell, she stopped what she was doing momentarily, and I rather naively asked if that meant we were…

“’Finished?’ Oh, honey,” she said putting her hand back onto my right shoulder. “I haven’t even started yet. Now put that tube back in your mouth and bite. I said ‘BITE,’ now open so I can continue with your procedure…”

Every once in a while, she’d stop again for a few seconds to give my mouth a douse of cold water which was not at all “refreshing” but painfully clear that she was actually washing blood away from my gums. Moreover, it gave me a false sense of hope that this uncomfortable ordeal was finally over and I could go home.

Finally, she lifts the ugly beige chair up and hands me a small mirror to hold while she lectures me about how to “brush my gums” (which I’m told is pretty much standard on a first visit) with a child-sized orange toothbrush. Damnit, not only are my teeth more crooked than I remembered, but I forget to shave this morn-

“You’re not watching. You NEED to watch this so YOU can maintain good oral hygiene until your next visit. If you DON’T maintain good brushing and flossing than you WILL have more problems down the road.”

I get it’s supposed to be “empowering,” but it came off as condescending and felt more pre-emptive handwringing. In other words: “It’s now officially YOUR fault if YOU need any further treatment beyond the 2^nd half of your cleaning and upcoming bridge work – which were also YOUR fault.”

No cherry lollipop (seriously, what kind of dentist doesn’t have lollipops?), but at least she “let” me keep the tiny orange toothbrush. Yah, I get to throw away something she would have otherwise thrown away herself – THAT’S empowerment, baby!

Okay, yes, she gave a REAL toothbrush too, along with a small pack of floss… and a bill for $589 due immediately upon receipt which the pretty, brunette receptionist who wasn’t sure if I could pay via check.

Whatever, I’ll let them work it out, after all, I have a sore jaw and a tiny orange toothbrush to get rid of…

The dour damsel’s depressing day

I was woken up a perky pre-recorded telemarketer loudly extolling how “2016 is THE year to SAVE on auto insurance” (though how I save on something I don’t have for a product I don’t own was never explained in her script), and while I was up I thought maybe I go grocery shopping but then I made the mistake of signing into FB and found myself wondering: “why do people READ my messages, but never actually answer them?” That cascades into a thousand other thoughts until I’m too depressed to go anywhere.

Suddenly, I’m reliving being dragged back into the college bookstore by the ears (yes, literally) by a pissed off manager who was determined to “make an example of me” in front of the whole damned campus what happens to kids who “steal” from HER store even though I clearly had a receipt – and a cashier who admitted to checking me out, but somehow failed to deactivate the hidden tag inside the book… even though I saw her rub it vigorously over the counter scanner several times. At least she didn’t pull a gun on me like the security guard at the CVS across the street…

Yeah, that was ten years ago, and as you can see from this blog: life really does “get better” …for some people, good thing I’m not a “person.”

Well, damn, I’m hungry and my fridge is STILL empty so I guess I have no choice now… but, naturally, just as I’m leaving the apt the phone rings.

“Hi, this is Dr. Dowling’s office, can I speak to ‘Jonathan?”

“Yes,” I said, and I knew exactly why she was calling. I’ve been trying to forget about this ‘double root canal’ for over two months now, but then she throws me off by not answering me. “…So are you going to ‘speak to me’ or not?”

“Oh no, ma’am, I’m waiting for you to get him for me.” She then pauses and continued with obvious skepticism, “unless you’re trying to tell me YOU’RE ‘Jonathan?’”

“Well, who did you THINK you were talking to?”

“Well, I don’t know, ma’am, but I need you to get ‘Jonathan’ on the phone for me.”

“I can’t ‘get Jonathan on the phone’ – I AM JONATHAN!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is an important reminder about HIS appointment tomorrow with Dr. Dowling, so I need to speak with HIM about it.”

Wait a second here: “Ma’am,” “HIS appointment” and “speak to HIM about it.” Does she actually, honest to god, thinks she’s talking to a young girl or just a really stupid adult woman? I don’t know which one because she didn’t tell me, but even my own brother confuses me with my 11-year-old niece on the phone – and that’s when he calls me!

“Look,” I said exasperatedly. “I’m too busy for this shit right now, please call back when you figure out who or what you’re looking for.”

“Thank you, and have a nice day,” she said.

Why is it the only time people pretend to care what kind of day I have is after they make it virtually impossible for me to have a “nice” one? Is the phrase supposed to magically erase everything that happened before it? If it is, then it never worked for me.

I let these questions (and others) fester in my obviously tiny mind until I got to the grocery store. I didn’t really feel like taking a bus there as I’d probably have to use it tomorrow to get to my appointment. Besides the walk would help me “clear my mind” (spoiler alert – it didn’t, it never did and probably never will), but at least it was a beautiful day for a walk. It’s a positive.

There are a variety of drive-thru fast food restaurants along Central Florida Parkway between I-Drive and the Williamsburg Commons. For those people saying $15 will push people out of poverty, McDonalds on the periphery of the mall has installed brand new “Ordering kiosks” guaranteed to make their cashiers obsolete…but today they had a message taped on their screens saying “POS not operational” (which the 12yo in me REALLY wanted to post a picture of here). After a short deliberation, I realized they didn’t have what I wanted (and if they did, it probably violated my “Aftercare instructions”) so I went to Subway instead and saved money so I consider that a positive.

Now what to get for the rest of the week? Veggies, bread, cold-cuts, Chicken wings? I love wings, but I can’t have hard foods. Hey, potato chips are on sale, but they break into “sharp pieces” which would get “stuck in my gums.” Frozen Swedish meatballs? Eh, I’ll take it anyway. I have milk, don’t eat eggs, or ice cream (too heavy and is usually melted by the time I get back) …and that, folks, brings me back to the front of the store.

I wasn’t particularly impressed with their soda\snack options so I put my baskets on the conveyor and gave the cashier my two bags. As I’m looking for my hat, I look up and see the old man at the register twisting and flipping it around in his hand as if manhandling it would give him some revelation or something.

“What the hell are you doing,” I said as he notices the large “DVC Member” logo on the front of said hat.

“Well, I’m – was – trying to find the price tag on it.”

“Well,” I said snatching it from his hand impatiently. “I’m really getting tired of re-re–RE-paying for that stupid hat everywhere I go – particularly since I got it for free and am docked $15-19 for it wherever I go.”

“Well, if you already own it, why did you give it to me to scan?”

“I DIDN’T. You took it from my hand when I gave you my bags.”

“Trust us,” the manager (who was acting as my bagger) said shrugging cavalierly. “We would be more than happy to charge you for it if you did.”

See? He’d charge me for a free hat – isn’t that hilarious?

I didn’t think so either, particularly since he just said he would have actually done it too. Not only that but I hate people automatically assume it’s A-Okay to manhandle MY things, but me touching THEIR things – even by accident – and you’d better believe there’d be hell to pay.

Hypocrisy? Nah, the former (as it was explained to me in an extremely condescending manner the last time something this happened to me) is “CAP-it-al-ism,” the latter is….um… who knows, but it’s obviously “justified” in some way and, clearly, even a “retard” like me can see the difference, right?

Well anyway, the exchange drained both my wallet and whatever remained of my patience so I went over to the ATM at the bank on the other end of the strip mall and tried to take out some money. Of course, the keypad wasn’t working right the first time so I cancelled and it worked fine thereafter so whatever. I walked away suddenly remembering that I had some coin rolls to deposit there… that I left back on the kitchen counter.

Fine, I’ll unwind with some coffee at the Starbucks on International…but I can’t have anything that I’d have to “drink through a straw” as that would have a “negative impact on my teeth.” Okay, saving myself $5 and change is another positive. Maybe, I can take a break and take the trolley back to the apartment…is what I’d say if the Northbound stop wasn’t “closed for construction,” but I saved another $2 so I guess that’s a draw of sorts.

The walk along Central Florida Parkway from the bank back to my apartment was the same distance it’s always been, but it seemed longer. Maybe it’s because there are only three benches the entire way from there to 1-4 (and they aren’t particularly well spaced for someone carrying heavy bags of groceries).

I got back around 3 or 4pm, at this point in the story, I really don’t care. I just want to go to bed… but who can sleep when the know they have a double root canal waiting for them when they get up?

Extractions and other pains

One of the hassles of not having a car is navigating the vagaries of the LYNX bus schedule (assuming they have one) which could only take me partway to my dentist’s appointment this afternoon in Dr. Phillips…which wouldn’t be so bad if Google Maps actually led me to the correct dentist’s office (the address is correct, but its placement on the map is over a ½ mile off – even though I personally signed onto Google and corrected it after my initial appointment last week). Oh, I forgot to mention, the bus stop closest to my apartment is closed for construction so I need to walk another ½ mile to get to the next one.

Bearing those things in mind, I scheduled to leave the apartment at 10:30am for my appointment at 1pm. Trust me, no-one was more surprised than me when I arrived at their offices a full half-hour before my appointment (…and was still sitting in their otherwise empty waiting room ten minutes afterwards).

When the young dental assistant (the same one from my initial visit, I believe her name is April) called me back, she led me to the same Exam Room I had the previous visit weeks ago. I could tell where she was leading me because the doctor (who looked like a slightly thinner version of the coroner guy on “NCIS”) was already in there reviewing my charts with my x-rays displayed on the monitor above my chair.

God, are my teeth really THAT bad?

He introduced himself as Dr. Baxter and like April he seemed to live up to the office’s moniker of “Friendly” dentist. While he reviewed my chart, April buzzed around the room gathering the materials the doctor already had with him as if she was trying to look “useful” but not entirely sure how.

Finally, it was time for the moment I’d spent nearly two months dreading.

“Very often,” Dr. Baxter said. “I can sneak it in there without you feeling anything.”

I know, he’s a doctor. It’s his job to lie about things like that, but, Sweet Jesus, those needles hurt (the main reason I stopped getting flu shots… that and the nurses mocking me for being “hurt” by such “a tiny, little prick”).

I’ll concede that the extraction itself was more of a “sharp pressure” than an actual pain, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about my upcoming root canal (which I’ve been assured is “entirely painless”).

Unpleasant as this was, I’m definitely glad I didn’t have to get six extractions like Greenberg recommended (with no explanation as to why other than “because they need to come out”).

At this point Dr. Baxter leaves the office temporarily so April could answer any questions I might have. Like how am I supposed to talk when I can’t open my mouth? She gives me a sheet of paper with an overly happy tooth merrily exclaiming “You just had a tooth extracted!” followed by a standard set of “aftercare instructions” which she proceeded to read to me.

She slaps my arm three times in succession. I already dislike people touching me, but this was beyond the pale. Naturally, I can’t tell her that with a mouth full of Novocain particularly when she immediately proceeds to lecture me condescendingly:

“Hey! I’m talking, that means you look at me – not at the paper – at me.”

I already know all the excuses she would give if asked about the incident (and I doubt she will be). The inevitable follow-up question is “Does that make her actions ‘okay?’” The answer for all of them was the same: No.

Yes, yes, I know, violence is “okay” if you’re only trying to “teach someone a lesson” (an invalid argument I’ve heard on far too many occasions) and no apology is needed if the victim doesn’t speak up (because who can’t talk when their mouth is completely numb from Novocain?).

Fortunately, I believe this is an education and experience issue rather than an instance of systemic bullying (opportunistic? maybe; systemic? no). I suspect given her age (mid-twenties) and overall diffidence around the procedure that she was relatively new to the field and will hopefully learn appropriate behavior in time.

In the meantime, at least, they took “professional courtesy” off my statement…

Recaps and bridges

I had on\off tooth pain since August so I went to Dr. Bull in Shamokin over Christmas week. He said I had two cavities and needed “an extraction, a root canal and a cap\bridge” but that he couldn’t do them because I was living in Orlando now.

So when I came back to Orlando on the 29th I made an appointment with a dentist here who did x-rays and declared that Dr. Bull was “wrong” and that I needed six extractions.

Naturally, “six extractions” is considerably different from “one extraction, a root canal, and a cap\bridge,” but he refused to explain anything to me instead tossing it over to his assistant who tapped my chart and said these are the teeth the doctor wants taken out. When pressed WHY, this doctor’s prognosis was so radically different than Dr. Bull’s when they were presumably looking at the same set of teeth, he put my chart down and shouted:

“If you like you doctor in PA so damned much go back to him – and don’t stop at the desk on the way out!”

In other words, don’t come back! However, when I told this to mom her immediate question was “how did you pay for the session them?”

This meant I had to find a new dentist quicky, so I chose what looked like the next closest dentist office to me on Google Maps (it wasn’t – it was a full half-mile away from the location on the map…or it was, until I signed into Google and recommended they change their marker). This doctor also did x-rays (that’s the third set in 2 months), but his prognosis was “two root canals, an extraction plus a bridge” – similar to what Dr. Bull said in December.

I’m not necessarily looking forward to all this work (minimum $7k – did I mention I don’t have dental insurance?), but at least I get to keep my teeth…most of them anyway.