This is the story of a very expensive accident that happened to me when I was thirteen. I had worked by butt off (okay, maybe it’s still there) for a year to save enough money to buy a bike. You see, we lived out in the country in the middle of nowhere and I couldn’t get anywhere without a ride from Mum or Dad, which, with them both working, was often hard to come by.
Finally I had enough saved to go to Canadian Tire and get my beloved bike. I was so thrilled with it I asked my Mum if I could ride it home – no small feat as it was about ten miles, a lot of it uphill, but I insisted. Seeing how excited I was, my dear mother agreed to follow me in the car. When I turned off Streetsville Road onto Derry West Road, there is a long downhill beffore I had to turn onto the Fifth Line. I was booting it down this hill at breakneck speed (literally). My mother later said her speedometre read 40 MPH (yes, miles). Suddenly I completely lost control and all I vaguely remember was grabbing at the handlebars. To my mother’s conserable horror following me, I launched over the handlebars and slid on my face for about forty feet on the pavement. Youch!
Three weeks later I discovered, in addition to all my other wonderful lacerations – bigtime "road rash" I had chipped my front tooth. Over the years I have had everything from a Maryland Bridge (temporary – I had it for fifteen years), to a tooth fused to gold post in my mouth (I broke it – something they said was impossible) and the dentist has reglued my "temporary" in upteen times over the past ten years or so. I’ve lost track of the cost to date, but it has to be about three grand at least. In June of this year I was eating a Timmies bagel, of all things, when I heard and felt a horrible crack. What was left of my tooth was buried in the bagel. Naturally this sort of thing never happens at a good time. I was meeting my then girlfriend’s parents for brunch that Sunday, and I had no front tooth! I called my dentist and he agreed to come in on a Sunday morning, and even brought staff in to do a temporary tooth.
So this is where the story gets a little confusing. While I was there they took an impression for a bridge. Although Dr. Powell and I had discussed this many times over the years I said I would do it right after I won the lottery. Yet another "temorary", after more than forty years, was fine with me.
Anyway, last week they called, telling me that my bridge had been sitting there since June and they wanted me to come in to get it done. I had no recollection of even ordering one, but it was kind of too late and seeing as how I haven’t been able to chew with the temporary, because I didn’t trust that I wouldn’t just break it again, I made the appointment for Friday. Sidebar to the story is that their accounting person phoned later in the week, threatening to put me in collection for the bridge she thought I had for months. I called her to adivse that it was in their office, not my mouth. She had a laugh.
So off I go on Friday to get my bridge – the one I should have had about forty years ago. It goes in fine and the doc admires his work and tells me what a great smile I have. I get up to the front and they inform me that I owe them TWO THOUSAND, ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY DOLLARS!!!!! You could have blown me over with a feather. I was stunned and believe it or not for me, utterly speechless. They had never told me how much this was going to cost, or, believe me, I’d still have a temporary tooth, probably for the rest of my life. I said I didn’t have a spare TWO GRAND kicking around, so they agreed to take payments, like that is much better? For a sec there I thought of having them take it back out.
Talk about a painful visit to the dentist! Yikes!
I came home with my brand new smile and started trying to figure out which walls I can live without on the reno. lol.
Yet another sidebar to the story is that just over two years after the accident, during which I was completely blank about the accident, I finally remembered exactly what happened. They had forgotten to tighten the nut that holds the handlebars on. Racing down that hill, the vibration had suddenly made it let go and I had these completely useless handlebars. In my panic I had grabbed at them and, naturally, found the front brake, which I squeezed tight, launching me over the handlebars. The statute of limitations back then to sue someone was two years, or I would have been a very rich man, who could have afforded to pay for this tooth.