Dental (Mis)Adventures

It was my dad who drilled into me (more than my brother because he was harder to drill into, I guess) about dental hygiene. He personally set a bloody example, pun intended, by vigorously brushing them till such time that blood would accompany the froth and water. He is currently suffering from such serious attacks on his dental fortress that they are close to being declared a heritage site and is in serious threat of demolition. Following religiously in his footsteps, it wasn't long before I would encounter serious threat to my own set of off-whites (I guess I've managed to rub off the whiteness thanks to my ministrations every day).

This current issue started as a dull ache on the left side of my mouth. While exploring the region with my tongue, I deduced with consternation that it was a slightly odd-looking tooth. Over a few months and countless explorations with the tongue, I knew that it wasn't odd-looking tooth but an extremely decayed one. Even though I don't exactly suffer from a whitecoat syndrome, I basically don't like doctors much, dentists even less. I associate them with, well not pain, but with huge bills. Since my economic condition, of late, has been kind of shaky, I wasn't too keen on any kind of medical checkup. Finally, as it happens so very frequently in such cases, the decision was made by the circumstances rather than me. The pain got to such an extent that I was finding it difficult to forget that I do have a set of teeth. That drove the final nail into the coffin.

A lady dentist had set up office near my house recently, and I thought it would be a good idea to visit that doctor. The feeling in the back of my mind that usually lady dentists are rather glamorous tilted the scales in favor of this new doctor. That feeling got a shot in the leg when I visited her and found that she was rather ordinary looking. Anyway, she examined me and found that I had a badly decayed wisdom tooth. I was happy!!! I must have some amount of wisdom to have a wisdom tooth, right!?! After giving me an antibiotic and a painkiller, she instructed me to come after a couple of days.

Couple of days later, I presented, the pain dulled to a certain extent by the medication. She directed me to the electric chair (just kidding!!! it was a rather pleasant chair), wore an apron over me, and got down to the business of pulling my wisdom out. She gave me a shot of anesthesia and another when I seemed to have no response to the first one. After that, she took a rather dangerous-looking tool and started plucking at my tooth. After about 10 minutes, I saw her pulling something out with evident glee. That turned out to be a false alarm as the lower portion of the tooth decided that it didn't want to leave my mouth. That resolve on my tooth's part only seemed to fuel her resolve to get it out that she got down to the task with renewed vigor. After sweating profusely and panting hard (only from the exertion of pulling at my tooth), she finally realized that this was one stubborn tooth. But it took another 20 minutes for her to finally give up. Well, not totally.....she asked me to return in the evening when she would have a dental surgeon do some kind of an operation.

In the evening, after loading my pocket with cash and mind with apprehension, I presented myself at the dentist's office. She had the surgeon waiting, some professor at some college. As in the morning, I was directed to the seat, and after one anesthesia and without much preamble, the attack on the remaining portion of my wisdom resumed. It wasn't long before I was crying bloody murder, and they had to give another shot of anesthesia to pacify me. I guess more than the actual physical pain, it was a psychological one seeing those dangerous instruments. One thing I've decided after this episode is that I'll never ever mess with a dentist. The second anesthesia finally did the trick. It made me still long enough for the surgeon to drill quite a bit of bone and pull the remaining part of my wisdom tooth. I had lost about an hour and loads of fluid (blood+sweat) and gained quite a lot of palpitations by that time. One major reason for the latter was the dentist coming up with the bright idea of asking Ranji to stand next to me, hold my hands, and comfort me. Seeing her face mirroring the damage that was being done to my denture set-up, I really got worried as to what exactly was being done to me. Anyway, as I keep saying, all's well that ends well.

Now, a week later, I am minus a tooth, a bit of wisdom, a bit of cash, and the pain I was having. Tomorrow, I have to go remove the stitches that were put in place. After having been to hell and back, suture removal sounds like child's play.