Are there people in the world who enjoy a visit to the dentist? Even when it’s just a routine check-up there is always a nagging concern that the man or woman in the mask may tap at your teeth for a moment or two before saying “Well they’re okay but the gums have to come out.”
Having had to have a lot of work done in my early twenties, including extractions and nasty root canal fiddlings, I’ve never quite become an adult about my visits to the dentist. I go – if those formative years taught me anything it is that a man who has a past history of caning cheap amphetamines and who still likes sugary foodstuffs can never afford to take the health of his teeth for granted. But I always go with a sense of foreboding.
Today’s foreboding was accurate but I knew it would be from the pain levels I’ve felt the past few days. Extraction time. Fortunately what has been removed is the small, mostly dead root of a tooth already largely killed off by my aforementioned history of speed freakery. Still, it’s not that it doesn’t hurt when a small root is removed from your jawline. It DOES hurt. It hurts many. And plenty.
And yet it hurts less than the ouching great fuckery of pain I’ve been suffering this week. I write this while anaesthetic is in my system so when it wears off the crying and the wailing and the gnashing of…oh not quite so many teeth might begin. It’s not bleeding which, if I remember correctly from way back when, is a good sign this quickly. Tomorrow I get the bonus joy of sluicing round my mouth with salt water three times a day. Gosh, you’re really spoiling me with the after extraction treats, Mr Dental Man. He was a man, by the way. Or she had an extremely plush beard and a very deep voice.
None of this is as important as the Westminster stupidity yesterday nor is it the worst medical experience anybody will undergo today. I’m just venting. You knew that though, right? Great. No homework for you today.