On Friday night, as I sat meditatively chewing a piece of pizza at home after getting off the flight from Plett, I noticed a strange, but depressingly familiar feeling. The crown on one of my teeth has broken, and this can best be described as the sensation of money leaving your bank account. Around R3000 – R5000, based on the last time I broke a crown.
It’s my bad luck to have been cursed with weak enamel. Because I grind my teeth, all of them will eventually have to be crowned. This is an astoundingly expensive exercise and one not covered by medical aid. It’s the equivalent of buying a car – quite literally. Or two, if you’re talking entry level: a Kia Picanto in the upper jaw and a Chevy Spark in the lower.
It could be worse. I could be living in Australia, where dentistry is so expensive and waiting lists so long that there’s a phenomenon known as dental tourism. Fly to Thailand or the Philippines, get your teeth fixed, have a nice holiday at a resort to recover – all for less than you’d pay in your home country.
My dentist is based in Parkwood and can look forward to making lots of money out of me this year. Sadly, no spa treatments will be involved.