A few months before my June 15, 2024 accident I watched the first season of Netflix’s Tour de France Unchained. The first episode revealed that a rider had a horrific accident in 2020 in which he was knocked off balance by another rider while sprinting for the finish line. The rider, Fabio Jakobsen, crashed into the metal barriers at 80km/h, crushing his nose and mouth. In his interviews for the docuseries, he’s already gone through reconstructive surgery and had all “his” teeth. (Graphic–but not bloody–pictures of the work done on his jaw can be seen here.)
On the ambulance ride to the hospital, I remember wiggling my toes and feeling relieved that I probably hadn’t broken anything beyond my teeth. I believed the magic of modern dentistry would take care of me.
It’s been 22 months, and my dental journey is still ongoing. September 11, 2025 was supposed to be my lucky day. Then it got pushed to March 12th. The installation of the final crown didn’t happen then either. Here’s my story:
After all the setbacks, my dentist’s office has become a traumatic environment. I arrived early in the morning on March 12th, waved to the receptionists, all of whom know me by name. I took a seat on the vinyl bench in the waiting area, where I fidgeted nervously for a few minutes before the dentist’s assistant grabbed me. They’ve always been punctual at this dental clinic. As soon as I settled into the fancier vinyl seat, tears began to spill from my eyes. The assistant handed me a pair of hot pink sunglasses so that I could look cool while crying.
The seat lowered and reclined back. The dentist moved the pearlescent-backed lamp down so it illuminated my ruinous chompers. The moment of truth had arrived: had this last implant firmed up in my jaw enough to pass the “torque test”?
Back in September, I felt pain as soon as the dentist tried removing the healing abutment. This time, the healing abutment came out without pain, but I already knew: it had failed. I sat up and started sobbing, trying to catch my breath before sinking backwards to receive the final blow to my psyche.
The dentist slowly turned the torque wrench. It wasn’t long before I felt the telltale sting of the implant twisting in my jaw.
Time for Plan… G? H? I??? I get the two crowns attached to my other implants swapped out for a bridge.
For this, the failed implant had to come out. Out came the syringe, and into my upper gums it went. Even with lidocaine, I could feel my nerve ends twisting. Maybe it was just psychological. Even after another shot of lidocaine, my brain registered the sensation of getting the implant removed as pain. This time, the dentist didn’t grant me extra doses of lidocaine and continued unscrewing the implant.
I walked out of the office with my face sticky from tears and a gauze pad wedged between my two good crowns. I grabbed my bike from the rack and walked alongside it for two blocks to MEC. Part of me had hoped to waltz into the bike shop and show the mechanics my new, shiny smile, while the other part had dreaded announcing yet another setback. No part of me expected to emerge from the dentist’s office with a bleeding void in my gums.
Yeah, the aforementioned pro cyclist, Fabio Jakobsen, crushed his palate, lost 10 teeth, and had all that corrected in under a year.
I’d actually gone to MEC to return a few items I had borrowed the previous week, but I was pleased to find Yann was working. He was the first person I told about the nightmare that had unfolded that morning. Throughout the day, several people who knew about my dentist appointment texted me for updates on how it went.
I felt angry about the this. I wished I had never told my friends the date of my appointment. Explaining what had happened, describing how a dental bridge works, and giving them a timeline for the completion of my dental work—which I didn’t even have—felt like reliving my disappointment over and over again. You want me to explain how a dental bridge functions? Okay, LET ME GOOGLE THAT FOR YOU!
Even though that was absolutely how I felt in the moment, I knew my friends genuinely cared about me and wanted the best for me. They did not deserve to have my fury unleashed on them. Instead, I said I wasn’t ready to talk about it, and they all respected that. Two days later, Zoée surprised me by having a bouquet delivered to my home. Aww!
My next appointment will involve temporarily removing the crowns from my two existing implants to scan my mouth. This is necessary to ensure the fabrication of a perfectly fitting dental bridge. A dental bridge is basically a segment of three or more teeth that attaches to two implants. In fact, it is not typical to replace more than two missing teeth with individual implants. In my case, I lost a third incisor after the two implants had already been placed.
As is now apparent, it’s been one setback after another. The dentist seems confident that he can reattach the crowns after the scan and later replace them with the bridge once it has been created. But he also thought there was nothing wrong with that final implant when he first attached the healing abutment. There is no optimism on my end, only dread.
I’ve considered tapping out of further dental work, accepting that my current smile is as good as it’ll ever get. But, if there is something wrong with the two existing implants, I should find out now while ICBC (insurance) is still covering my dental expenses.
As a kid, I enjoyed my visits to the dentist as it meant missing school. I’d get to come home with a fresh toothbrush and a toy.
“Carrying trauma is the long-term, often subconscious, storage of intense, unprocessed stress from overwhelming events, affecting both mind and body.”
I no longer find joy in going to the dentist.
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