Adventures in Probability

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"I'm not really sure - it's been dead for a long time but it was fine like that. Then last night it tore loose while I was eating pizza."

There is a short pause while my substitute dentist appraises the situation, and then a hasty verdict is rendered. "I'm not going to touch this. Dr. Hutchins will want to take a look at this himself when he gets back. I'll have the receptionist book you an appointment."

I'm less than fully satisfied, and it turns out to be another week until the Dr. will be back, which is way longer than I'm willing to wait. After a few hasty phone calls I track down a new dentist who agrees to see me that afternoon.

After a quick initial examination, x-rays are taken and I am left alone with my thoughts while the eager dental staff process my photos. After a few minutes my new health care professional storms back into the room.

I don't look like the oxygen starved side-kick of a dynamic truck driving duo, but I sound like it.

"Tell me exactly what you did to this tooth." She speaks in the tone of an accusatory mother and I recognize this for what it is, a bad sign.

Naturally I'd like to be helpful in this situation, however, in my short but eventful life more than one thing has struck me in the face, so I don't really have a good answer for this question. I shrug and make a vaguely noncommittal noise, which draws further scowling from my earnest new dental practitioner.

To make a long story short, I am told that my tooth is shot. Shattered in many pieces at the root, and not long for this world. Preparations for a replacement swing into immediate action, however I am told that a permanent new tooth cannot be installed for six months. In the interim I will be fitted with a wonderful, temporary, snap in tooth, which will be ready in two days.

I head to the office unhappy but confident that a good solution is being worked on. I check my email and am caught off-guard by a Dear John email from my recent date, explaining why she thinks I'm great and how we should just be friends. I'm understandably excited about the prospect of fresh new platonic friendships and work hard to ensure that my exuberance doesn't radiate through too brightly in my polite reply.

Two unhappy days later, removing the shattered fragment of tooth from my jaw turns out to be the most unpleasant dental procedure of my already colourful life. However, it pales in comparison to what comes next - the six-month replacement tooth is an entirely unanticipated test of my resilience.

With the new tooth in, it turns out, I don't look like the oxygen starved side-kick of a dynamic truck driving duo, but I sound like it. The hidden plastic and metal structure that is holding my tiny prosthetic limb in place is so thoroughly interfering with my tongue, that I am suddenly able to park in handicapped spaces with a clear conscience. My speech however, is not the only thing affected. The mass of plastic and metal so badly confuses my tongue, that when I eat I am unable to tell if I have swallowed all of my food, and am forced to carefully check my mouth after each bite, in order to determine if I'm ready for more. I begin to suspect that this is what it may be like to be an old man.

Ok, so I probably should have seen it earlier, but like I said, when things start out well you tend to let your guard down. At any rate, by this point I've realised that the storm has blown in, the wolves are on the doorstep and the forest is burning. I'm having a bad run of luck so, in the protean spirit of small animals pursued by large predators, I begin to zig-zag, randomly spinning one way, then the other, in desperate search of escape.

I cancel plans to go out and instead, head for the basement to work out. Where better than your own basement to hide when statistical chance has caught up with you, hmm?