onionbagblog
 
Goofy
Tuesday 16 December, 2008


It wasn't a wise idea to schedule a two-hour dental appointment (ouch!) to coincide with major roadworks along Brixton Road. Cycling through SW9, and I almost turned back before I hit the Rec, defeated by the roadside drills reminding me of what was to come.

But the small matter of £200 paid upfront somehow saw me all the way up Brixton Hill for my mid-afternoon rendez vouz with the Drill Mistress.

No pain, no gain, Madam.

I'm usually a good boy when it comes to my teeth. I value the taste of raw rhubarb too much to let my molars go to ruin. A check up twice a year, and a quick spit and polish from the Drill Mistress, simply to disguise the stains that come with twenty cups of PG Tips a day.

But the bi-annual check up at the start of the month came as a bit of a shock:

Replacing the gold crown fitted some thirteen years ago when I first arrived in Brixton, two fillings and an X-ray. Plus the usual spit and polish.

And so Tuesday afternoon, and there I was, all ready to sit back and relax. Why is it that EVERY dentist has a TV tuned into mind numbing daytime TV crap? Pay attention to my teeth, oh Mistress of the Drill!

But the Lady of the Mask was in no mood for foreplay today. Neither was her Spittle-Sucking Assistant. I was invited to sit down in the chair (um, nah - I'd rather stand...) and I could see straight away that this was SERIOUS business. I was booked in for the duration, and that duration was precisely two hours. Smiles were few and far between. Not with teeth like that, mate.

First the injection, and then an entire afternoon and early evening out for the count. Well, the left side of my jaw, anyway. It's the strangest of all body sensations (and I've felt some strange bodies in my time.) Totally numb, and unable to drink my life away with PG Tips. Maybe that's the whole point?

We then passed away the best part of an hour trying to remove the old gold crown. I think the blokes back outside the Rec had more success removing half the paving around SW9. Crowns are stuck down with cement for a reason - to keep them firmly in place.

The Drill Mistress was almost ready for the bolt cutters, but then an extra powerful suction from the Spittle-Sucking Assistant and I had it off, so to speak.

I was fitted out for the new crown, and then given a temporary plastic one until next week. I feel like a King that is halfway to his Coronation. Don't forget the extra strong cement used to attach the temporary crown, just so that we can go through the whole painful process once again next week.

I was then asked to 'take a quick rinse' of the mystery dental drink (what do they put in that?) And then with a mouth feeling like I had just gone ten rounds with Ricky Hatton, I was unable to spit it out without having half the fluid dribble down my chin.

Not the kind of image I wanted to impress the Drill Mistress, or her spittle-sucking assistant with.

Same again next week. Christmas Eve, actually.

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth, etc.


#permalink