Oh, God, seriously. Have mercy.
I am sitting here actually anticipating the pain that will follow when the anaesthetic wears off. Not only did I receive a filling, but also the delight that is the scrapey-scrubby process of having my teeth “Cleaned”. That’s not just cleaned (with your toothbrush), but “Cleaned” (by a pro). I liken it to having a bath in disinfectant and scrubbing with a wire brush – does the same job, only more painfully, and also cuts you.
The dentist was surprisingly chirpy for first thing in the morning, considering that he has a whole day of looking into people’s disgusting mouths to look forward to. He chatted away about travelling, and didn’t seem too perturbed when my hand-in-the-mouth muffled replies became simple grunts of acknowledgement that he’d spoken. I dunno. Maybe he likes spending all day looking in people’s disgusting mouths. I would be sick, personally.
I was somewhat amused to note how small and trivial the procedure is to a dentist. I wonder what dentists feel like when they go to the dentist? Do they examine themselves and perform their own fillings? Do they never get cavities because, well, who knows how to take care of teeth better than a dentist? The conversation paused as the big scary light shone down on my face, and some kind of vacuum cleaner buzzed under my tongue, and sharp-looking steel things made scraping noises, and the drill shrieked, and fine sprays (water? bits of tooth?) flew through the air, and I closed my eyes and clutched the arms of the chair, trying to block out the horror of it all. Then it stopped. So, will they have your accommodation sorted out when you get there? asked the dentist, interestedly, setting down his weapons. It was as if the scary horror movie part had never happened. Like he’d just paused to take a sip of coffee or something. I’m fairly impressed, if I’m honest.
Also, since when did they start photographing the whole gory process? This is a new part, as far as I’m concerned. An extra layer of discomfort, as you can actually see how utterly rotten your poor tooth is, and then view a nice slide show of all the bloody bits, and the weak parts of teeth that are just waiting to become Severe Problems, and the brown patches that really shouldn’t be there. I am horrified. Horrified. The inside of my mouth is a frightening, frightening place, and I am never drinking sugary drinks again.
And now, as I sit and bite the inside of my frozen mouth really hard in that way that you do ’cause it feels really weird, and then find yourself in utter agony with a shredded mouth several hours later, I must also muse over the fact that my dentist finished our conversation this morning by asking where he might find my blog.
Erm… ‘scoffyalpsh dot com, I mumbled unintelligibly, hoping that the numb mouth would conceal my panic as I tried to remember what exactly I’d written about him after my visit earlier in the week. You don’t want to go offending your dentist, you know, not when he’ll merrily stick sharp instruments in your mouth when you haven’t even done anything wrong.
He made me write the blog address down for him.
My dentist, despite his choice of career, is a really, really nice chap.