A Fresh Start

Now that I’m over the (financial) shock, I can recount a couple of things that amused me at the dentist.

Angry assistant’s primary rôle seems to be to act as translator and official teller-off for dentist Kiki (no, really, that is her name, apparently). Kiki sits alongside, nodding sagely at appropriate point.

When the subject of the small gap arose (the one for which the half million two thousand pound implant is recommended), Angry Assistant actually said, in all seriousness: “How do you eat with your teeth like that? I don’t see how you can.”

I looked at her in amazement - how could she look at me and suspect I’m having any difficulty eating? I’m five stone overweight for goodness sake - hardly the sign of someone struggling with food, is it? “Oh, I seem to manage.” I replied.

There were four fillings yesterday - although I must stress that two of these were to replace old, old fillings with modern (off-p)white versions to make them less visible (I may have been bad, but not that bad).

Kiki prodded about the first tooth.

“Do you feel anysing?”, she asked, as she prodded.

“No“, I answered truthfully.

She frowned and shrugged, then picked up the drill.

Hang on, I thought. What about the anaesthetic? Maybe the fact that I couldn’t feel anything meant that it isn’t BLOODY HELLFIRE ARGH!

To paraphrase Samuel Clemens, it seems that accounts of the nerve’s death were somewhat premature.

“Zat’s a relief”, said Kiki. “I vas vorried zere.”

“You were vorried? Not as much as I was.”

After agreeing a signal system for me to indicate pain (I was to thump one of them¹ if Kiki hurt me again) anaesthetic swiftly followed. In fact, judging by how long I was numb after the treatment had finished, I suspect she may have erred on the side of caution) and the excavation work continued. Every few minutes Kiki stroked my belly. It wasn’t clear whether this was intended to relax me (in which case that wasn’t the effect it was having) or whether she is a Buddhist and was rubbing me for luck but whatever the reason, I wasn’t about to complain. Not wanting to be left out of the Fat Bloke Tactile Experience, Angry Assistant would pat me on the shoulder and tell me how brave I was being.

How brave I was being? For goodness sake - yesterday I’m the Old Man Who Fell Over. Today I’m being treated like a bloody five year old child!

I’d like to mention that I was a very helpful patient. One of the advantages of having such a sizeable belly is that Kiki was able to use my stomach as a temporary shelf for her tools!

An hour and a quarter (and four fillings) later the glamorous double act were finishing up, tidying up the fillings with a rasp to ensure I could actually shut my mouth.

“Does zat feel normal now?”, Kiki asked.

“Well, no.” I had to reply. She looked worried. “I’m still numb so it doesn’t feel anything at all.”

As I left the surgery there were three people sitting in the waiting room, looking uphappy at being kept waiting (my 45 minute appointment having overrun slightly … oh, ok, by 53 minutes if you want to be precise).

“Count yourshelves lucky.” I said in response to their glares. “You weren’t the ones getting the treatment.”

Then came the really painful bit. £204 (the main filling had increased in price from £28 to £80 to £120 as various complications had been found). Of course, this is nothing compared to the biggie, but at least that can be paid in instalments. Oh, how reassuring. Once again I was able to assure them that the practice would be having one hell of a Christmas party this year, which they found very funny. Quite a hit with the ladies, aren’t I? Why does it always seem to involve me opening my wallet, though?

Talking of which, and planning for the imminent costs, I asked whether either of them would like to buy a cat. They weren’t buying. A text to Tall Andy as I wandered towards the station established that he really wasn’t keen to pay £2,000 for my old Palm Vx either. I’ve cancelled the order for my new PDA - that’s 15% of the money raised, then - and will cancel my BT Openzone subscription, as the Vx doesn’t have WiFi. That’s another £25 a month saved. Stopping smoking will save another £150 a month (eek!) and - from the research I did last night - would help recovery from the implant procedure anyway. I’ll give this another go once I’ve finished the packets I picked up at Tesco.

¹ This may not have been exactly what they were expecting me to do, but I though it would get the message across better than raising a hand they weren’t actually watching.