April 25, 2010, and empty socket (ex-tooth) #18 still hurts right down the middle every day. It's a persistent, gnawing type of pain that comes on regularly, like it runs on its own schedule. It is the identical pain caused when Dr. Fidel, an outside dentist I hired to place a crown on his implant, twisted a miniature garden hoe-like instrument that had two moving plates, into the socket drilled by Rosenberg, just before the final stage in her placing a crown on his implant, causing intense pain. That is the same pain I would later experience - when Rosenberg pressed a chrome instrument, that came to a point at the end of a half-circle, directly down onto the center of the flesh he had "regenerated" on the surface of the now-empty socket #18. He made me jump with pain three or four times in quick succession as his female personal assistant looked on intently - grinning. She is the same assistant that wiped feces on the sleeve of my (washable, luckily) jacket. And it was the secondary assistant, a white female, that had stuffed the filthy, blood-soaked gauze (someone else's) in my mouth, stealthily, from behind. But how does one prove such things? It's impossible, like the fact that he (Rosenberg) had left the operating room for ten minutes after shooting me with novacaine. I had almost gotten up to look for him, but decided to relax instead, floating in space, enjoying the moment. In comes the blue-green-clad little-old-lady assistant from the recovery room who pushes a drill into my mouth, then down into the jaw. It hurt like a freshly broken tooth hurts. Somehow it was the right spot, however, as if she'd been schooled. His personal assistant then came in and grinned that grin as she scraped the surface of all my teeth with the tip of the brushed aluminum suction device, pushing that tip purposefully down hard against that same surface of, yes, that same, silly, object of everyone's attention: SOCKET #18!!! Then, while his main personal assistant sat there and wiped her mouth with her surgical mask, in prances Rosenberg himself. He stares into my open mouth with shock and awe, his wide-eyed countenance nevertheless revealing a post-ecstatic look of fulfillment, and proceeds to push a screw into the hole that was once the forlorn (and, unfortunately, not forgotten) tooth #18. The screw pops out three or four times, then he gets out his special screwdriver, twisting and twisting to no effect. Finally, the screw grabs and Herr Rosennberg shouts, as he's running away, "It should stay tight two weeks."
The screw popped out before I got to the elevator.
I feared calling for five days. If I told him what the ratty females did, he would always respond, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Andy."
He would later deny he had that look on his face.
An inexplicable charge for $450 mysteriously appeared on my credit card later on, to go along with his unprovable assaults and telltale taunts.
When I'd first visited his office, he wouldn't tell me that 2 tooth roots were cracked, as came out by him - as a taunt, in the subsequent small claims suit that I lost along with my $5000 for installation and removal of his implant. An "implant" is merely a screw pushed deeply into the jaw - and I, unfortunately, had signed a legal liability-release at the same time I was trying to get him to remove that painful screw from my lower jaw, which had become completely infected. But, previously, Rosennberg had sent me to Dr. Zicarelli of NYC Endodontists, who relieved me of $1000 in three visits. And Dr. Fidel of Greenpoint, also his associate, wouldn't return my $1700 after she removed her loose crown that had worsened the infection she'd caused when installing it. Her office is in her home. Dr. Clifford Salm, who was the initial person I saw with my 2 broken roots in Rosenberg's office, charged me $360 for x-rays, refusing to say if they were broken; instead, scraping along the outline of my gums, making them bleed. Then, he grinned. read more
