I, person that I am, like you, people that you are, was born a toothless baby. It’s been nearly 24 years since then; 24 years plus 39 weeks (born one week early) of development and growth. I’ve grown arms and legs and an assortment of organs, which developed pre-natally, deciduous teeth, which developed between the ages of 6 and 33 months (post-natal), then those gave way to permanent teeth, which developed between the ages of 6 and 12 years (also, post-natal). My wisdom teeth (aka third molars), the final dental development and perhaps capstone to general development of my mature self, came in (and were taken out) just a few years ago (2004-2005). Now, just weeks from my 24th anniversary of post-natal living, I have suddenly become all too aware of my impending decline.[1] Because I have awoken awareness to the fact: I, too, decay.
On March 9, 2009, during what in the profession is called a “closer look” scheduled two weeks following a routine checkup, I was informed by my dentist that I had a cavity on my left maxillary second molar (way in the back, top-left). Actually, he told me that I technically had two cavities back there. This was my first cavity (or technically first and second), and after 23 and 11/12 years of un-caried life, a source of personal pride, you can imagine it came as quite a surprise. [2] Because, simply put, I don’t get cavities, and yet, there I was on March 9, sitting in a plastic covered chair, bibbed, with a bright light shining into my face and a set of hands/instruments in my mouth, getting a tooth drilled and filled because it had begun to decay as a result of bacterial by-products.
It wasn’t just the discovery of imperfection, or more precisely the discovery of an imperfection that I was confident would not exist, but rather it was the sudden crumbling of the entire mythology I had already constructed around the premise of mine being a non-cavus disposition. When I was young enough to be considered young, but old enough for my nonpropensity towards tooth decay to prove apparent,[3] I was told by my pediatric dentist[4] that such nonpropensities could be the result of a low pH level in my mouth. He said that people with higher pH levels were especially prone to tooth decay, while people lower pH levels were especially not.[5], [6] I liked this distinction, a simple binary: us Basics versus them Acids. I liked it so much that I folded it into my identity list. I, Josh. I, Jew. I, New Yorker. I, brown-haired. I, myopic. I, college educated. I, Basic. Right there, just like that. I talked about being a Basic to people, seeking camaraderie with others of my kind,[7] and sympathized with those less fortunate to be on the side of the spectrum. I believed that one day I would find a woman just Acid enough that we—a pair of star cross’d lovers—would find the perfect pH balance with each and every kiss. And this would be the woman for me. I wasn’t looking for the rapid and violent oxidation chemically required for sparks to fly; I was looking for our chemical union to result in the perfect balance that only she and I could bring one another. Of course part of that mythology was that being with this dream girl and her counterbalancing acid-mouth would somehow sustain the health of my all-too-base–encountering gums, much the same as my base-mouth would sustain the health of her too-close-to-acid-for-comforted teeth, thereby perfecting the symbiotic Aristotelian ideal of Friendship (here, an ideal Friendship not only with benefits, but dependent upon them). The myth had burrowed deep into my psyche; I its hero, my Acid counterpoint my fate. In some form or another, this whole Base/Acid discussion has come up with pretty much any woman I’ve dated since before I was 16. This is not to say that I’ve screened any girlfriends or checked cavity counts or performed alkaline tests while they slept. If I determined any said girlfriend to be an Acid, it was great: I could make some sly joke about chemical balance, move in for a kiss, and then move back, look into her eyes and think about the great balanced future we could have together, dentally and otherwise. If I determined any said girlfriend to be a Base, well that was fine too, I guess, as it was like living on the edge, fighting heroically against Fate in some epic trial.[8]
While my dental record had always been pretty clean, my father has had just about every dental problem you can imagine (and a bunch that you may have never heard of, or perhaps you’ve heard of them but have no correlating definitions), which, as long as I can remember, have been continually treated one procedure after another. If there is one association I have for “dental issues” in my free associating brain it would have to be “dad.” And I have to say I feel a bit the Luke Skywalker here to his Darth Vader (with all due respect to my dad, who I would not like to suggest in any way is an all-powerful enforcer of a cosmic empire bent on submission or destruction to all opposition parties therein). In The Empire Strikes Back, Luke loses his hand as the paternal link to DV is revealed and the very last part of the movie shows Luke’s hand being replaced by a machine-prosthetic hand, symbolic o
f the step Luke has taken toward following his father’s path (DV being a heartless cyborg of a man) to the Dark Side.[9] What step have I taken? And in what direction? The maxillary second molar that had once been all me, all organic, all pure to its core, has been partially replaced by some composite resin (plastic!) that was wholly foreign and now fused to me. I, Skywalkeresque. I, part-artificial. At least when DV’s lightsaber cut into Skywalker’s wrist, it was a sterile event (some presumptions of the nature of lightsabers here made) as opposed to the bacterial decay that cut into my tooth. It was not my first step: at age 16, I started raiding his closets for his old clothes (innocent enough); at age 20, I was diagnosed with colitis after a pretty violent flare up (the same age my dad was diagnosed with colitis);[10] at age 22, I started to work for him in order to learn the family business (the only one in my generation in my family to even begin going down that track). And now this? I believe there is an instinctual fear of turning into one’s parents, perhaps having to do with genetic diversification, or the necessity of evolution or progress as survival of the species, or some other scientific reason. This dental decay, and its subsequent composite false restoration, only stokes this fear, enflaming it (fear-of-becoming-your-dad-itis): I, son. I, apple fallen not far from the tree.
Perhaps part of the reason this whole cavity business has been so rattling is that I can’t help but feel like my I-Basic, I-no-tooth-decayed, identity has been stolen from me unjustly. None of the digital x-rays taken by my dentist showed any signs of tooth caries. My dentist, with his little tooth pick and magnifying eyeglasses didn’t see any tooth decay. As far as any of these things were concerned I was tooth-decayless. But at the very end of my routine exam,[11] the dentist pulled a new tool, resembling something between a thermometer and electric screwdriver, which he explained was a new toy. The tool was able to compare tooth densities of teeth. As a control, he pushed the tool up against an unquestionably healthy tooth (of course at that point, I thought all my teeth were unquestionably healthy teeth). This measurement was then compared to some of the more slightly questionably healthy teeth. If the questionable tooth proved to have a softer density than the control tooth, my dentist suggested there may be something beyond what can be observed by the naked eye. Well, his tool found what it was looking for: a tooth with a density reading of 20 somethings less than my dense control tooth. It had only been 2 or 3 months since my dentist had gotten his new toy. Had I scheduled my appointment just 2 or 3 months earlier, none of this would’ve happened. Instead this rat of a machine dragged me out of bed at night to some HUAC-like trial accusing me of possessing, fostering some kind of blight, disease, decay on the morals of dental hygiene. The jury would be out for a week, but, when I came in for my follow up it was condemnation from the get-go. I was robbed by technology. But at the same time, it leaves me to wonder: if it’s true that this new tech-toy can detect dental decay far beyond the limitations of physical exams, isn’t it possible that this tooth was decaying for a long time already, that really I hadn’t been non-cavity-prone for months years even. Also: if my dentist really had a ball with this thermometer-screwdriver-like tool, what else would he find? He only took reading on 2 or 3 teeth. What else lies/lays in there, just beneath the veneer of this once Basic mouth?
The procedure of routing and filling a dental carie is simple enough. First comes the anesthetic: a swab of numbing gel, followed by a little taste of some locally injected thing, followed by the real dosage. Then the dentist, with the help of his water-squirting-tool-wielding assistant, uses his tooth drill to drill out the decayed parts of the tooth, like cutting out the bruised parts of an apple. Then the filling process: a blue gel used to prime the surface (read: the inside of the newly drilled holes), which my dentist described as akin to priming a canvas to ready it to best receive paint, then a first coating of the composite resin, which needs some time to dry, and then the rest of the composite filling, which needs even more time to dry. Lastly is the fitting stage: any excess resin that overflowed from the cavity will interfere with one’s bite, resulting in discomfort, and will need to be buffered down to fit.
It was only on the drilling section of the procedure that I really formed any real opinion on a procedural level (it was a negative opinion), but not because of the drilling per se. It was more of the by-product. Drilling a tooth is not just cutting out a chunk. The process is more akin to a high-powered sander—a tiny little sander that slowly (well the drill probably moves pretty quickly) sands away the affected areas. And despite the best efforts put forth by the water-squirting-tool-wielding assistant that stood over me and opposite my dentist and the little suction tube that rested in my mouth, hanging from my lip, I could feel the shavings, the dental dust, coming off the tooth, spraying all parts of the mouth like a heavy ossified mist. The dentist and water-squirting-tool-wielding assistant both wore surgical masks, or perhaps the masks used for asbestos abatement or exhuming decayed corpses, but I was breathing in my own diseased tooth, the idea of which, more so than the sensation, was distressing to say the least. 
I could smell it: the same scent I remember from childhood demonstrations of how to make a shofar, a Jewish ceremonial horn made from non-cattle animals belonging to the bovidae family (i.e. rams, goats, greater kudus, etc.) by boiling the horn (softening and cleaning it), removing the cartilage (hollowing it), and drilling a mouthpiece (completing the air circuit), the scent of drilled animals, dead bones,[12] a childhood association. I, product of my experiences. I, animal. And so I imagined my tooth as a ceremonial horn, blown through the then-drilled holes made by my dentist with different drills, which sounded different tones, each pitched according to the varying drill sizes, which in a circuitous way only emphasized the shofar-tooth image. I, instrument.
I’ve dreamt about tooth decay: dreams in which my teeth fall out en masse or crumble to dust at my touch, where said falling and/or crumbling is never painful (though usually at very least somewhat distressing) and sometimes turns out to be more of a side note than anything else. Apparently it’s not an especially rare dream amongst my fellow dreamers. Artemidorus, a soothsayer from the third century, reports on tooth dreams in his Interpretation of Dreams 1800 years ago. Artemidorus interprets tooth dreams to be about the family (the mouth being like a house) or possessions (who knows why). For people-tooth interpretations, upper teeth refer to important people in the family and lower teeth less important family members; right teeth refer to men and left teeth women; and incisor teeth refer to the young, canines middle-agers, and molars the old. For possession-tooth interpretations, incisors refer to household objects, canines objects of little value, and molars treasures. Artemidorus interprets people-tooth dreams to foretell the death of the family member to whom the tooth which is lost in the people-tooth dream corresponds, while he interprets possession-tooth dreams to foretell the loss of property to which lost tooth in dream corresponds. Many centuries (not to mention tooth dreams) later, Freud also writes about dreams of teeth falling out in his Interpretation of Dreams and categorizes such dreams as a “typical dream” along with dreams “of falling from a height,” “of flying,” and “of embarrassment at being naked or insufficiently clad.”[13] Freud interprets the typical loss-of-teeth-dream to be about castration and/or guilt about masturbation. But I can’t say I buy the interpretations of either of these prominent dream readers: I can’t take Artemidorus’ argument too seriously because he understands dreams as divinations which is coming at dreams from a whole different level from the level from which I am coming; and I can’t take Freud’s analysis too seriously because Freud thinks everything is about castration/masturbation, so I can’t help but think he just took the easy way out here.
A more common interpretation I’ve heard (from peers and an assortment of dream-interpreting websites) contends that these dreams reflect anxiety about not having control;[14] teeth will fall out in these dreams like Chiclets out of a 25-cent candy dispenser no matter what you do in the dream to stop said deluge of dentin. Of course, loss of teeth in the non-dream context pretty much represents the same thing in the larger scheme of things (which is why the dream interpretation resonates so soundly). That is, when your teeth are falling out (seemingly) by themselves (as opposed to falling out as direct result of blunt force trauma), we feel helpless and in the process of ruination. Dental decay is just that: decay. I decay. That’s what this means. I, one who does not care for decay.
I, one who does not care for decay? But I consider myself to be an (unrecognized) colleague in the small field of ruin studies. I, ruin enthusiast. I, who has done much research in books with titles like Fascination of Decay, Irresistible Decay: Ruins Reclaimed, Pleasure of Ruins, The Way of the Flesh. I, who has written extensively of the changing underpinnings of aestheticization of the ruin and decay over the past 300 years. I, ruin aesthete. So what happened?
Well, maybe nothing. I have suggested that over centuries (particularly from the 18th century onward) ruins have been aestheticized in a number of ways: emblematic, picturesque, monumental, nostalgic, nationalistic, etc. Each aesthetic category has its own historical, philosophical, and cultural basis. But the one category which I have always enjoyed the most was the sublime ruin. This category emerged in the 1750s or 1760s following Edmund Burke’s philosophical enquiry into the sublime, which laid out the definition of its modern usage.[15] The sublime ruin provokes this terror (as this was the single most important aesthetic reaction when encountering the sublime) as one realizes the vastness of eternity as well as the inevitable decay of all material objects—including man—before it. All things decay, the ruin says, nothing lasts. And while this emotion may seem emotionally tiring (it is!), the sublime was sought by the Romantics of the period. The sublime was (for many, is) considered the height of aesthetic experiences. Romantics sought out ruins precisely for this emotional exchange with them, to feel dominated by them.
I, dominated. I, sublime seeker. The anxiety I feel as a result of this news of not only susceptibility but actual dental decay, the anxiety which shows my lack of control, the recognition of my impending decline (this existential angst) may be a true aesthetic encounter with the sublime. I am horrified by it. And yet perhaps I am drawn to it. It is exciting to me as I cower before its ramifications. Precisely. I can feel it.[16]
The question itself crumbles. There is no I that was or I that will be, but only I that I am. In 24 years my identity has not changed, but grown, expanded, matured—a process that does not end post-peak, but is part of that process of decay as well. I, Josh. I, history. I, tooth decayed.
~Josh
[1] I see this as essentially different from feeling old, which is not a feeling I am currently feeling. In fact, I feel too young to think about feeling old. Oldness refers to age (temporal) and perhaps psychology (mental). I, however, am feeling imminent decline, which is completely physical and corporeal in nature.
[2] My dental records, up until March 9, consisted of the following: (a) slight staining which was cleaned or cleaned as best said stains could be cleaned at periodic (read: semi-annual) checkups; (b) tender gums, due to somewhat delinquent care (see note 5, below); (c) slight over-bite and some spacing issues which were corrected by a few years of orthodontic care (read: 3 years of braces, which were cared for by a very sweet orthodontist who wore braces himself as if in a show of solidarity, and which were put on my teeth just after my bar-mitzvah and pretty much demarcated, if not defined, those awkward years boys aged 13 to 16 go through); and (d) after years of x-rays showing that my wisdom teeth were coming in straight, they decided to take a wrong turn and all four were removed during my summer vacation ’06 in a single sitting, which took no more than ten minutes (once the local anesthesia set in, the teeth just popped right out seemingly as easily as a Pez dispenser dispenses Pez) and together with the application and removal of braces were the only things that I would consider to be “dental procedures” at all comparable to the procedure of having this maxillary molar procedured. In case it wasn’t clear, I’ll just mention that while the whole wisdom teeth ordeal was upsetting, it was not upsetting in the same way this cavity is upsetting. No contest.
[3] I should mention by reiteration that I never had a cavity in any of my so-called baby teeth either, despite my childhood distaste towards cavity prevention techniques (yes, I did lie to my baby sitters about whether I had brushed or not, but it proved innocent enough). My baby teeth fell out one by one perfectly intact, like James Bond villains killed by taking hundreds of bloodless and woundless machine gun shots to the chest, like sacrificial virgins left for the fairied gods.
[4] I think.
[5] This is not to say that my pediatric dentist told me that me and my low pH(at)-ed mouth were not susceptible to other problems. He said that people with low pH levels were especially prone to gum disease, which may be even more terrifying than tooth decay, but always seemed distant enough. By this (il)logic of distance from repercussion (i.e. gum disease always seemed like an older person’s issue), I felt pretty confident about my dental hygiene, if not prideful. Actually it has only been in the past year that I’ve gotten more serious (read: serious at all) about flossing to combat said propensity toward gum disease after my current (i.e. not pediatric) dentist said I had mild gingivitis (a gum disease). I’m more than happy to report the apparent successes of my flossing efforts in both thwarting the mild gum disease and gaining some approving nods from my dentist.
[6] I should mention in full disclosure that I told my current dentist what my pediatric dentist told me and got a pretty sideward glance in return. It occurs to me now that the whole pH-level thing may have just been a tactical maneuver to keep a kid who thought he was dentally invincible interested in his own dental hygiene. Sort of like telling a kid who thinks he can fly about the amazingly strong suction force of commercial plane engine intake to keep him from jumping out the window. Tactically sound, I guess. It is also my current dentist’s glance that caused me to question whether it actually was my pediatric dentist who told me this (see note 4, above), even though I am pretty sure that I specifically do remember it being him who had done so. Still, despite my current dentist’s accusations, I refuse to let go of this general assertion of pH-based proclivities. It makes too much sense to me and unless someone can show me scientific proof otherwise, which my dentist has not done, I’m sticking with it. That being said, if you have such scientific proof and try to show it to me, I may run away or just close my eyes and start yelling, depending on my initial estimation of your speed versus my own speed and the physical, emotional, social, or other effects of my running.
[7] I would warn them of their impending gum disease (see note 5, above) out of a sense of duty.
[8] I’m going to have to be real careful here. I honestly can’t remember my current girlfriend’s cavity count at the moment. Although I do know we have had this conversation. I do want to clarify one thing: while the myth does have to do with finding an Acid for love, in no way am I particularly physically attracted to the sight of cavities in a woman’s mouth. I find them to be pretty gross to look at, as are most other things in other people’s mouths that lay beyond the most superficial veneer of a smile. The point being that I was more than happy to take a girlfriend’s word on her cavity count and infer from it her Basic/Acid identity. I needed no proof.
[9] Of course in one of the Star Wars prequels (does it matter which one?) it’s revealed the first part of the not-yet-DV-DV to become mechanized in the not-yet-DV-DV’s descent into becoming the cyborg DV is losing a hand, as if to retroactively place even more resonance in young Luke’s amputatory transformation (a little forced).
[10] I haven’t heard anywhere that colitis is a genetic disease. And yet, as if by some genetic, father-son, mental/spiritual, connection/intuition, I knew the moment my symptoms started to become evident (no need to go into the gross specifics) that it was colitis. Without a doubt. In fact, I called my dad on the phone and the first thing I asked him was how old he was when he was diagnosed with colitis. Of course he wanted to know why I was asking before he told me that he was around 20, but finally he did admit it. I don’t think he really believed me over the phone that I had colitis, but I knew I did. And when the doctors confirmed it a week later (it was a really long week for me), I definitely gave him a look.
[11] I have my teeth cleaned and examined semi-annually, which I realize is probably significantly more often than many other people of my demographic. I can only suggest that this is the result of a Jewish mother, whose own father was a dentist and was seemingly raised to have severe fears of tooth decay (nonetheless, my mom does have a few cavities), who schedules my dental exams whenever she has her own. Another result of having such mother was a distinct lack of sugary foods in my childhood diet: no sugared cereals, no candy, and only sugar-free gums. I once tried to explain to her that these sugared things won’t effect my dental health (I being a Basic and all), but I didn’t win the case. Maybe she didn’t understand. Or, maybe she was just trying to be fair: my brother, cavitied as he was, was definitely not Basic so maybe it was just a matter of being dietarilly hitched to his Acid ride.
[12] Actually a shofar, by Jewish law, cannot be made out of bones (antlers), as they must be made of horns (which is pretty much all keratin).
[13] It strikes me as peculiar that the typical dreams of falling and of flying are counterpositioned while typical dreams of being naked and of teeth falling out don’t have any similar oppositional typical dreams. It also strikes me that 3 out of 4 of these typical dreams are angst-inducing if not terrifying, while dreams of flying, I’m assuming, are usually pretty pleasant, if not exhilarating. I should mention that while I do have recurring dreams about teeth falling out, I do not recall dreaming any of these other typical dreams Freud lists (although I have tried quite expressly to have a dream of flying, concentrating on birds, superheroes, clouds, and such images while trying to fall asleep, and have on a number of occasions lamented my failure to have accomplished such goal of dreamt flight). I have had atypical dreams, which need not be discussed. Also, I should mention that I have another recurring dream of driving with an unresponsive brake pedal. By a simple survey of a few friends, I understand that this cut-brake dream is fairly typical, too. I imagine that Freud would have no objections to my inclusion of this dream in his classification of typical dreams and humbly suggest that he, too, would have classified it as such had he lived long enough to see modern vehicular brake systems invented. Actually, I imagine this would have been extremely interesting to Freud as he had a difficult time understanding the notion of a typical dream (a dream that many people have independently of one another) and it would have been fascinating to study the rise of a new typical dream that arose according to technological cultures of the time. Personally, I find these broken-brake-pedal dreams frightfully awful and dream a derivative of this dream at least as often as I dream derivatives of tooth-falling-out dreams. On rare occasions, I have had dreams that incorporate both tooth-crumbling and brakeless-driving (which usually involve brake failure and car crashes), which have proven damned near paralyzing upon my awakening.
[14] Of course this is what I would think my car dreams are about as well, which of course suggests that I have a lot of angst about that sort of thing—enough angst to manifest itself in two completely different ways. Although they certainly do seem like different angst-sources: car angst suggests man’s loss of control with regard to technology (i.e. it’s is not me who controls the actual car braking in the car because really I have left that job to a complex system of technological tools on which I rely heavily), while the tooth angst suggests man’s loss of control with regard to nature (i.e. man does not control his body, ultimately, nor does man control all surroundings). So my sense of control seems to be burning from both ends of the candle.
[15] Or at least one version of the modern usage. Immanuel Kant wrote his own philosophy of the sublime, which certainly built on Burke’s, but made some small but significant changes.
[16] An interesting thought: as a true ruin-enthusiast, I may have already made a mistake. I was treated for my cavity. My tooth was restored. Restoration, however, is a true abomination to a ruinist (this debate first surfaced in the 19th century when French restorationists and preservationists duked it out as to how to treat various ruin sites the world over). At very least I could have pursued the preservationist’s route of freezing my tooth in its current state of decay. But of course a devout ruinist would have called out to my dentist: Let it all crumble!
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