My Little Hawaii

I would love to go to Hawaii. I have never been, but I hear it is nice.

I also hear that it takes a lot of time and money to get there. With three children I can think of about one million better ways to spend our hard-earned cash.

Much better ways.

Like on dental work.

Yeah. Not my first choice.

As a child my parents put their money into the care of my teeth. I had it all – twice yearly dental cleanings, and much to my chagrin – braces.  Funny thing is that as a child, I never really thought about going to the dentist as something my parents were doing for me in lieu of taking trips to exotic locations.

And since what goes around comes around, I am sure that at least one, if not all, of our three children’s teeth will cost us a pretty penny.

Problem is --- we are still spending money on MY TEETH!

Actually one tooth – one I now call “Little Hawaii.” I call “her” “Little Hawaii” because with the money I have spent on her, the whole family could have enjoyed an entire week in the Hawaiian Islands.

It all began when I was 8 months pregnant with my first son, Brendan. “Little Hawaii”- a molar on my lower right – BROKE. “She” decided to crack while chewing on a cheese cracker. Not sticky toffee. Not hard candy. A cracker!

“Whoa! That’s weird,” I thought.

I’d read everything I could get my hands on regarding pregnancy. Tooth cracking was not high on the list of side effects.

But with less than a month to go before entering the world of parenthood, I didn’t give “Little Hawaii” much thought.

Four weeks later Brendan was born and I was thrown into a world so full of love, diapers, and sleep deprivation, that not only did I forget about the small crack in my tooth, I forgot about the dentist all together.

I mean who needs a dentist, when, on most days, you only remember to brush your teeth somewhere between 3 and 5 a.m.?

In fact, I didn’t think about “Little Hawaii” again until 18 months later when I was pregnant with my son Colin.

This time “Little Hawaii” made herself known much earlier. I was only 6 weeks pregnant, when what I can only assume was jealousy; “Little Hawaii” began throbbing painfully.

OH MY GOD! THIS HURTS!

Two days and a few shots of Novocain later, the pain subsided. But the panic set in.

“You need a root canal,” said my friend-turned-enemy dentist.

I informed him that he’d have to perform this lovely procedure without the use of x-rays, which I was convinced, would hurt my baby.

He agreed, and two weeks and a significant outlay of cash later, “Little Hawaii” was on the mend.

Again, I went through my pregnancy and Colin’s first year of life paying little attention to the state of my teeth.

But then, at a routine cleaning, my dentist informed me that it was now time to cap “Little Hawaii.”

All I heard was ….

“THIS *&%$# TOOTH IS GOING TO COST YOU MORE MONEY, blah, blah, blah.”

But in the name of oral care, I spent the money and “Little Hawaii” was looking pretty good…

Until

Yep.

My third pregnancy.

My expensive cap cracked and needed to be replaced.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

So the pattern repeated….new cap, more money, nice smile.

Until…

NOPE

NOT

PREGNANT!

But just last week, with a glint of sadness (or was that dollar signs?) in his eyes, my dentist informed me that “Little Hawaii” had to come out. She had put up a good fight, but she was just too weak to go on.

I looked at my dentist like he was crazy.

He then went on to explain all the miracles of modern dentistry that would allow him to extract “Little Hawaii” and implant a new-and-improved tooth into my mouth.

“So what you are trying to say is that this will be the most expensive tooth I’ll never have??,” I ask.

He smiles sadly.

Well, at least someone will go to Hawaii.

Aloha Dr. Dentist!!