Grateful

Have you ever had one of those dreams where all your teeth just spontaneously start falling out? Or your teeth are super fragile and break at the slightest touch? And then you wake up, super freaked out, and check all your teeth to make sure they're still there?

No? Just me?

Well, last week one of those nightmares of mine kinda came true. See, I woke up Thursday morning with a broken tooth. Like, very broken. I didn't notice it until I was eating breakfast and a piece of pancake got stuck there. As I tried to scrape it off with my tongue I felt a very jagged, very sharp tooth. My #15, the very back upper molar.

"Hmmm. That can't be good," I thought. And then the major question: "How did that happen without me noticing?" I mean, seriously? Wouldn't that have been all sorts of painful? Where did the broken part of the tooth go? Did I swallow it? What now?

Good thing my husband's a dentist.

Brian and I weighed my options. We have dental insurance, so I could go see a regular dentist. Or, I could be supportive of good ole' University of Tennessee and go to their General Dentists office, possibly saving some money. Of course, my cheap self decided to go the route of saving money even if it meant the dentist I would see would be less experienced.

But as I sat in the dental chair of the UT General Dentists office yesterday morning, I seriously questioned my decision. Their "financial specialist" had just explained to me that my "I-don't-have-any-idea-how-I-did-it-tooth-breakage" was going to cost upwards of $1000. And that was including the "Five-percent discount we'll give you since you're husband is a UT resident."

Ouch. Literally. My tooth was uber-sensitive at this point and telling me that what I'd unknowingly done was going to cost us an arm and a leg and I would only save a measly five-percent by going to the more ghetto office was a good way to hit me while I was down.

 I wanted to cry. And the cheap part of me wanted to get right out of that pleather dental chair and say "Nevermind. I don't care if my tooth is broken. I'll have my husband sand it or something and save a thousand bucks." 

Of course, in my head I could hear Brian chewing me out for not getting it taken care of, despite the cost.

The cost though, made me sick to my stomach and I just didn't think I could go through with it.

But then, amidst my silent prayers, there was grace.

Two minutes later, Ms. Financial Specialist walked right back in and said "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize your husband was an oral surgery resident. That changes everything. See, we have an agreement with the oral surgery office. We will pick up the tab for whatever your insurance won't cover. You won't owe a dime. Sorry to alarm you!"

Oh sweet relief. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.

And after that awesome news I didn't even care as much that I was being semi-tortured in the dental chair while my overly small mouth was being stretched beyond its elasticity by overly large latex-gloved hands trying to reach my very back molar that I don't even remember breaking in the first place.

All I could think was thank goodness my husband does what he does. Oh, that and "Dang you insurance companies for not covering more than 50% of dental bills and almost giving me a heart attack!" Isn't oral health equally as important as the rest of a person's body? Who runs insurance companies these days?

So today, with a temporary crown in place, tender gums, and the corners of my mouth so sore it hurts to smile, I am thankful. Thankful that despite the obsurdity of not knowing how I broke my own dang tooth, I am watched out for. And that even God knows I am too cheap for some things.

How many times is Brian's occupation of choice going to save me? That's twice in the last three months that my dear hubby's profession has come to my rescue.

So even though I'm grateful, that's enough for now, thanks.