To brighten the day

 

To brighten the day

Off to the dentist again today. I seem to have spent a good deal of time there this year, The porcelain crown was fitted a few weeks ago– almost hammered into place, I felt – but today’s appointments were for the dentist and the hygienist.

I leave the dentist feeling somewhat chastened – my mouth is not as sparkling as it should be, would be if I paid more attention to the tooth-scrubbing ritual. Vishal is far too polite to say that, of course, but the criticism is implicit as he tells his dental nurse what to type into my record.

On the other hand, Emily, the hygienist, is positively complimentary as she sets to. She’s young and patient and charming, which is just as well as I now have to see her every four months instead of six, to increase the dental servicing.

It was bitterly cold this morning, a heavy frost battling with extremely bright sunshine in an azure sky. Outside the dental practice is a magnificent display of geraniums (actually pelargoniums) which must be very sheltered as they are still flaunting a dazzling spectacle.

The photographs, taken hastily with my iPhone, do not do them justice. They provide a wonderful welcome and a tender farewell to all who visit.

 

An hour on my back

 

An hour on my back

Intra-oral scanner

Image source

On Monday afternoon I spent an hour on my back. It wasn’t for relaxation, though not particularly uncomfortable. Bright lights, loud buzzing, murmuring voices, some music I would never have chosen, but what could I say to my dentist? I was in his hands, literally.

I wondered if one of the requirements for acceptance to a dentistry degree would be small hands. After all, dentists work in a very restricted area and there’s not a lot of room for manoeuvre. It’s difficult enough when the drill is being used, but when the scanner is introduced, life becomes interesting.

A lilting melody is played as the instrument traverses the gums, and it would not be surprising to see a well-drilled (!) troupe of tiny fairies dancing in front of one’s eyes. Of course, I would not be able to see them since I always shut my eyes when I’m at the dentist’s mercy. 

Then Steph, the dental nurse, clearly in training, had a turn with the scanner. That was an altogether different experience and Vishal, the dentist, was pleased with her. He didn’t ask if I would mind her practising on me, probably knowing I would agree, but should he have checked?

Meanwhile, I was wondering if dental patients ever dislocated their jaws. Mine were beginning to ache, having been wide open for what felt like hours. I also pondered, again, if and how many times dental professionals are bitten by their patients.

I had been thinking beforehand about how I was going to entertain myself for the ninety minutes I had been threatened with promised, but in the end I was there for just sixty minutes. I have to return in a couple of weeks to have the crown fitted, taking home with me again the mould that had been made in July.

There was a small piece of broken tooth in the gum, which has now been persuaded from its resting place. Today, my back aches, I have a headache, and my gum is a little sore, but if that is all that ever troubles me, I shall be forever grateful.

Open wide!

Open wide!

Comfortable chair in the waiting room

Part of my tooth disintegrated on Saturday. I couldn’t believe it, although, since I have been remiss for many reasons in visiting my dentist, I should not have been so surprised. It didn’t hurt, though the broken edge was making my tongue sore. You know how you can never resist revisiting something different in your mouth.

Anyway, on Monday I made an appointment for Wednesday afternoon. The receptionist said, rather reprovingly I felt, ‘We haven’t seen you for some time,’ which made me feel like a naughty school girl. This morning, she ‘phoned to say that Vishal, my very pleasant dentist, was ill and would I mind seeing Charlotte instead. As the appointment would now be in the morning, I readily agreed. I hate spending an entire day waiting for things of that nature and trotted along – well, drove, actually – in good time. At the moment, one can never be sure which road will have been shut off with temporary traffic lights and/or diversions, so I left twice as long as I would normally need.

                                                                                                         Large Yucca

I arrived early. The waiting room was empty. The time for my appointment came and went. The receptionists were busy on the telephones, arranging and rearranging appointments. I learnt that Neena, Vishal’s wife, would not be working today as she had an emergency. Maybe Vishal was the emergency! I hope not.     

Eventually, Charlotte came to introduce herself and we proceeded to the surgery. I think Charlotte was more anxious about me being apprehensive than I was and kept checking that I was okay. She explained everything she was going to do and away we went. Insofar as any dental appointment can be enjoyable, I was most appreciative of Charlotte’s approach and thanked her for her care and attention.

So now I have a complete molar again, albeit mostly filling, and I have made an appointment for a check-up with Vishal at the beginning of April. I will soon be back in the routine again.

Mother-in-law's tongue

Vishal and his associates have gone a long way to helping me overcome my fear of dentistry and for that I am grateful.                                   

  

The occasional table in the waiting room had a selection of magazines, but I was amused to spot a Bible on a lower shelf.

Night-time rituals

Night-time rituals – we all have them, yes? These days, for me at least, they involve showering and much tooth-cleaning. My challenge is to make my dentist speechless with delight at my sparkling gnashers and to avoid the digging and chipping at my defenceless canines, premolars and molars, thereby circumventing the accompanying monologue – for how can anyone have a dialogue with a mouthful of hand and tools? – of snarled orders to pay more attention to the backs, fronts, cutting surfaces of my teeth. In short, I would like to feel that my reluctant six-monthly dental appointments were more of a celebration of my oral hygiene and less a return to subservient and infantile acceptance of stern rebuke.

Further current rituals involve the application of creams and unguents to various areas of my body to firm, reduce, rejuvenate and otherwise turn back the years to that time of my life – long gone, now – when skin was dewy and elastic, firm and closely attached to bone and muscle. When I was a child I would never have envisaged such things. I remember my parents remarking on the nimbleness of my child’s fingers and wondering what they meant. Surely everyone could do what I could do? Fingers didn’t grow old, did they?

My childish rituals I recall now with something approaching amusement mixed with sympathy at my innocent trepidation.  Lights were never turned off on my journey to bed. I hated, feared the dark. Dark was my enemy – who knew what dwelt in the quiet shadows of the staircase ready to leap upon my helplessness? Once I had reached my bedroom there were procedures that demanded observation, for if I didn’t follow them I dreaded what might transpire.

First I had to make sure there was nothing – or nobody – hiding in the wardrobe. Bravely I approached and flung open the doors – nothing! Relief was followed swiftly by the need to ensure that there was nothing dangerous behind the curtains. Again, reprieve from menace and a chance to breathe more freely. Yet the worst was to come - I had still to check that no peril lurked beneath my bed; this was the worst threat for I had to lower myself to the floor to check the underside of the bedstead, which was just a few inches above the carpet.  I was aware that I was at my most vulnerable on all fours – after all, there might be spiders waiting to leap upon my vulnerable back. Finally, with a sigh of relief, I was reassured that I could now get into bed.

I followed such a routine for many a long night. How on earth I could have believed that any hazard hid within my small, safe room I cannot imagine. With some part of my mind I realised that I was being foolish. My parents, I knew, would never expose me to danger, but yet I had to fulfil the rituals before I could settle to sleep.

There were other rites, later, that I had to perform as I walked home from school but never any as rigorous as my night-time routine.