Pulling Teeth

This week, I went to the dentist’s for the first time in three decades. The last time I visited there, I hadn’t even left school. Back then, my family never troubled the dentist unless we had a toothache. But over the years, people have been telling me to get regular check-ups.

            Over the years, my teeth have yellowed a bit but essentially have stayed the same. I even have wisdom teeth which stubbornly refuse to fall out. Children and teenagers are fitted with braces, which was unheard of when I was at school. But then, in my time, men didn’t have their backs waxed, either. And you would never have gone to the gymn- that was like going to work after work.

            In the past fortnight, though, I’d felt excruciating pain whenever anything I ate touched the left hand side of my face. Two particular teeth there were sensitive, two wisdom teeth that surely had to come out. I wasn’t bothered about the pain- everyone knows that going to the dentist is painful- but the cost. Finally, though, I decided that I couldn’t indefinitely eat on the right hand side, and so I made an appointment.

            The firm I chose are called Mydentist, and they're good. My dentist was a young Polish, or Eastern European woman, who said: “Goodbye, my dear,” as I left. She was calm and friendly, and didn’t lecture me- which I thought a dentist would. She gave me fillings. I didn’t feel anything, but a couple of times I felt like I was suffocating or drowning, so held my hands up in panic, at which, patiently, she would stop until I got my breath.

            She took an x-ray of my mouth. I nearly gagged on the plastic tag which goes into your mouth, until she told me the trick of pressing my chin with my index finger. I’d forgotten all about the upside down faces peering at you under surgical masks, and the gleam of the lamp above your head- I don’t ever remember getting sunglasses before. I have a tooth which needs to come out, but because it has stuck itself to my jawbone- the phrase is impacted, apparently- she could not do it there. Instead, I have to go to hospital to have it removed. In the meantime, though, I’ve been given antibiotics. My pain came, not only from the tooth but a mouth infection. Since I’ve been taking them, I’ve felt a hundred times better.

            I feel proud of myself for conquering my fear, albeit after thirty years. But then, I think, the longer you fear something, the more fearful that thing can seem as time goes by.

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            I’m still not writing anything, apart from morning pages and writing practice. But that’s alright. An idea will visit me, any day soon…