As told by Molar #19, Lower Left First Molar
I’ve been meaning to tell you my story for years, but you never seem to listen. Sure, you feel me when I ache, and you’re certainly aware when I’m causing you problems, but you’ve never really heard what I have to say. Well, today’s the day. Pull up a chair—or better yet, lean back in one—and let me share some tales from the mouth.
My Early Years
I wasn’t always the battle-scarred veteran you see today. I remember my eruption like it was yesterday—breaking through tender gum tissue at the ripe age of six, joining my fellow molars in the grand architecture of your jaw. Those were simpler times when my enamel gleamed like polished marble and my cusps were sharp enough to crack the hardest nuts.
My neighbors and I were quite the team back then. The incisors up front were always showing off, claiming they were the most important because they were visible when you smiled. The canines thought they were tough guys, bragging about their pointed tips. But we molars knew the truth—we did the real work. Grinding, crushing, breaking down everything you threw at us. We were the industrial district of your mouth.
The Sugar Wars
Everything changed when you discovered candy. I’ll never forget the first time high-fructose corn syrup cascaded over my surface like a sticky waterfall. It seemed innocent enough—sweet, pleasant even. But I didn’t realize I was being marked for target practice.
The bacteria moved in almost immediately. Streptococcus mutans set up shop in my deepest grooves, throwing wild parties every time you indulged in sweets. They’d feast on the sugars, get completely wasted, and then vomit acid all over my enamel. Night after night, this chemical assault continued, and slowly, my pristine surface began to deteriorate.
I tried to signal for help. I sent out pain messages, made you sensitive to cold drinks, even caused that persistent ache that kept you up at night. But did you listen? No, you reached for more soda and dismissed my warnings as “just a little sensitivity.”
The Cavity Chronicles
The inevitable happened on a Tuesday. I felt the first real breach—a tiny hole that penetrated my enamel and reached my dentin. The pain was excruciating, like someone drilling into my very soul. Which, coincidentally, is exactly what happened when you finally visited dentist Preston a week later.
I have mixed feelings about that first filling. On one hand, the drilling was traumatic—imagine someone taking a jackhammer to your foundation. On the other hand, Dr. Preston was gentle and thorough, and that amalgam filling stopped the bacterial invasion in its tracks. I was patched up, reinforced, and ready for decades more service.
The Wisdom Tooth Incident
You want to talk about neighborhood drama? Let me tell you about the wisdom tooth situation. I’d been peacefully coexisting with my fellow molars for years when suddenly, these four rowdy teenagers tried to muscle their way into our established community.
The third molar behind me—what you humans call a wisdom tooth—was the worst of the bunch. No respect for property lines, constantly pushing against me, trying to force me out of my rightful position. The overcrowding was unbearable. I couldn’t do my job properly, food kept getting trapped in the spaces, and the whole back section of the mouth became a war zone.
I was relieved when the oral surgeon finally evicted them. Sure, I felt a little lonely afterward—I’d grown accustomed to the constant pressure—but the peace and quiet was worth it.
The Grinding Years
Your twenties brought a new challenge: stress grinding. Night after night, you’d clamp down on us with tremendous force, grinding us against each other like we were in some sort of dental thunderdome. My cusps, once sharp and defined, became worn and flattened. I developed stress fractures that made me sensitive to temperature changes.
The worst part wasn’t the physical damage—it was the unpredictability. I never knew when the grinding would start or how intense it would be. Some nights were mild, like gentle massage. Others felt like being caught in an earthquake. I begged you to get a night guard, sending sharp pains up into your jaw, but it took years before you finally listened.
The Root Canal Revelation
I thought I’d seen everything until the day my nerve died. It wasn’t dramatic—no sudden trauma or accident. Just years of accumulated damage finally catching up with me. The pulp inside my root chambers became infected, and the pain was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
When dentist Preston explained that I needed a root canal, I was terrified. Remove my nerve? Hollow out my interior? It sounded like a death sentence. But the procedure was actually liberating. The infected tissue was carefully removed, my canals were cleaned and sealed, and I was fitted with a beautiful crown that made me stronger than ever.
I’m not quite the same tooth I used to be—I can’t feel hot or cold anymore, and I’m technically “non-vital”—but I’m still here, still functioning, still doing my job. Sometimes I miss the sensitivity, the direct connection to your nervous system, but there’s something to be said for the peace of mind that comes with being pain-free.
Lessons from the Trenches
After all these years of faithful service, I’ve learned a few things I wish I could share with every tooth in every mouth. First, consistency matters more than perfection. You don’t have to be perfect with your oral care, but you need to be consistent. Those bacteria never take a day off, so neither should your hygiene routine.
Second, we teeth are tougher than you think, but we’re not invincible. We can handle decades of chewing, grinding, and general abuse, but we need help. Regular checkups, fluoride treatments, and yes, even those cleanings we all dread—they’re investments in our longevity.
Finally, we’re not just tools for chewing food. We’re part of your identity, your health, your confidence. When we’re healthy and strong, you feel better about yourself. When we hurt, your whole world changes.
My Legacy
I’ve been with you for decades now, through good times and bad, sweet treats and healthy meals, stress and relaxation. I’ve watched you grow up, make mistakes, learn lessons, and hopefully become wiser about taking care of the community in your mouth.
I don’t know how many more years I have left, but I’m proud of my service record. I’ve ground through thousands of meals, survived multiple fillings, endured a root canal, and I’m still here, still working. Not many teeth can say that.
So the next time you feel me aching or notice something different, please listen. We teeth have stories to tell, and we’re trying to communicate with you the only way we know how. Your mouth is our home, and we want to keep it healthy and functional for as long as possible.
Trust me, you’ll miss us when we’re gone.
