This week, my dentist and I have worked to compensate for the continuing deterioration of my teeth, all part of the natural process by which my earthly body gradually sloughs off parts that will not be needed for my final flight to Heaven.
In Heaven, an all-new body will be provided, one which we are not told but presume will not be subject to tooth decay and arthritis and hearing loss.
Thursday, Dr. Jim sent me to the lab across town where I left a piece of my confidence–well, okay, a bit of dentures–alongwith instructions to the lab on what they were to do. Twenty-four hours later, I returned to pick them up, presumably allowing me to resume a more or less normal existence.
The laboratory is an interesting place. Not laid out to impress visitors, this is a working space, upstairs, reached by something much like a fire escape. The few desks were unoccupied at the moment, but were messy and crowded with papers and sacks and boxes. Along several rows up and down the large room were literally hundreds of plastic trays, each holding a work order along with molds of teeth, dentures, bridges, etc. It was an ugly sight, I’ll tell you.