“Don’t call it a comeback, I’ve been here for years.”

I’m bAAAAAAaaaaaack.

What did you do this summer?

Here’s what I did.


Let me back up a bit. It was the Friday of the Civic Holiday long weekend at the beginning of August. My department was allowed to leave work early, and I was very excited to get home. I (used to) bike to work every day, and every day when I got home, I would carry my bike down one short flight of stairs to store it in the basement overnight. No big deal.

After I rode home that day, giddy with the promise of a fun long weekend, I excitedly lifted my bike to bring it through the side door leading to the basement. A little too excitedly. As soon as I lifted it, the front tire caught the door frame and the handlebar smoked me in the face, square with my front teeth.

I stumbled backward (not down the stairs) and set the bike down. For about a minute, I sat outside on the ground doing this:

Then I went inside and looked in the mirror. Aside from the blood and a split lip, my teeth were still there! Yahoo! One front tooth was slightly chipped, and the small tooth next to it was cracked horizontally. But it looked like only the cap was cracked* and not the actual tooth, so I thought I was in good shape.

*Fun fact: I have peg lateral incisors next to my two front teeth, like tiny vampire teeth (yes of course I do), so they’ve always been capped to look like normal teeth. I once asked my dentist why my teeth were like that and he answered, “You’re just special.” Well, duh. He just has no idea how special.

Didn’t you once fall off your bike while standing still? And didn’t your bike once fall on your head in your kitchen?

Shut up, you.

I wouldn’t be able to see my dentist until the following week because of the long weekend. The broken cap was painful, but I could manage it. I even decided I could still play baseball that night…




Nope, it’s not what you’re thinking. But that would have been awesome.

Instead, I sprained my ankle.



OFF the field.

At the END of the game.

How’s that for a lesson?

So I spent the holiday weekend, that I was soooooo excited for, hobbling around with a swollen, purple (haha) foot and unable to eat solid food. Come and get me boys!

When I saw my dentist the following week, the x-ray determined I did in fact break the actual tooth underneath the cap, and completely killed the nerve. He referred me to an endodontist for a root canal (where I naturally stopped the procedure to take the toothless selfie shown above). He put the broken part back on as a temporary fix, so no, I’m not still toothless. For now.

I’ve so far seen five different dental specialists over nine different appointments as they work together to figure out the permanent solution. When my dentist told me he wanted me to see an implant specialist, I jokingly gasped, clutched my chest, and said, “How dare you!” It was awkward. It was also fun to tell people I was seeing an implant specialist and watch their eyes ever-so slowly gaze downward.

But why so many appointments? Because… Guess what?! I’m a “special” case! Go figure. My case is so “special,” in fact, that my prosthodontist is using me as a case study with his colleagues. No, it doesn’t mean he’ll do the work for free. I asked. But it does mean he gets to start every appointment with, “I’m not going to lie. It doesn’t look good.” So that has been fun.

Turns out, not only is the angle the tooth is cracked “not ideal,” but I also have the added luck of the “special” way my bone and gums happen to surround my tiny teeth, which is also “not ideal.” Or something more technical than that. Plus, since my gums are exposed when I smile, we want to make sure the solution is aesthetically perfect.

“We don’t want to ruin that beautiful smile of yours.”

“Oh, you. You tell all the girls that, don’t you?”

It will be months before everything is fixed. So far, the proposed solution is looking like some minor gum surgery, two months with a missing tooth while my gums heal, followed by a putting in a bridge (attaching a new tooth to the teeth next to it).


“No, no, don’t worry. Stop crying. We’ll make you a fake tooth to wear for those two months.”

“Oh (sniffle), ok (sniffle). That’s not so bad (sniffle).”

“But you’ll have to take it out every time you eat.”

Well fuck.

There goes my strategy of winking at cute boys in the cafeteria during my lunch break. But I’m sure eating in a bathroom stall won’t be so bad.

Whatever. There are waaaaaay worse things in life. I’m really not looking for pity. Donations would be good though. Kidding. Kind of.

All this because of a split-second slip of the tire. My dentist kept telling me it was a million-to-one shot. If the handlebar had hit me a teeny tiny fraction of an inch to the right or left, I probably wouldn’t have done so much damage.

“A million-to-one shot. Yup, I’d say it was a million-to-one shot.”

Each time he said it, I was reminded of this, which made me feel better, because no matter what I’m going through, it’s probably better than corkscrew pasta up the ass:

Otherwise, my summer was good!



1 thought on ““Don’t call it a comeback, I’ve been here for years.”

  1. This is a comeback. A fantastic one. I am laughing but I truly hope it is nota painful/expensive/long tiring process…

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