Red Wine Express

The child bride has just finished a tooth straightening exercise with our dentist. It was only one tooth plus a minor renovation of those either side so we only needed to take a second mortgage on the house and sell our granddaughter to people smugglers to pay for it. Her completion neatly coincided with my horrendous tooth ache – the first toothache I’ve had since 1989. That one resulted in a root canal procedure, a technique first perfected by the Spanish Inquisition.

How do dentists do that? The last time I went to the dentist was a decade ago. More fool me, you say but in my defence, I have pretty healthy teeth although the one gradually turning black, which is front and centre (I think that’s the correct anatomical term) after said root canal would suggest otherwise. I haven’t been for years but as soon as the CB’s work is finished, mine begins – weird. And I haven’t actually seen anyone else in the surgery when I’ve had cause to pay a visit. Maybe that means dentists are good time managers compared with doctors who are the worst time managers in the world. I doubt the President of the United States would get in on time when he reports to his local GP. Or maybe the CB and I are sufficient to prop up the dentist’s lavish lifestyle and pay for his investment properties.

What was left of the aching tooth, after two pieces had broken off while eating (and been swallowed) in previous years, was removed. It was that or another root canal job. Prior to removal and after much poking around I was overwhelmed by an awful smell. I think dog shit is the worse smell on the planet but this was close. And it came from my mouth. So it seems I had the part of an exploratory root canal that involves the flushing out of a miniature balloon full of the sort of bacteria you could clear a football stadium with.

That was step one in a process that will take the best part of this year such are the cracks and gaps and ageing fillings scattered through my mouth. I know I said I had reasonably healthy teeth and it’s true but any dentist worth his amalgam is going to find a litany of problematical situations requiring rectification. And thus it is so.

So today was two fillings at the very back. I yearned to have that vast Julia Roberts mouth because….. well, we’ll leave it there.

Now local anaesthetic is all very well but two things. Most people would agree that the dentist’s drill makes the most frightening noise ever and I think you could put your house on that. There’s the small one that makes the weeeeeezing, Nazgul in the distance sound and the coarse one which makes the rumbling, crunching sound. And the local anaesthetic doesn’t extend to all of the surrounding teeth so I swear some of them were throbbing in sympathy. Incidentally, the coarse rumbling drill alerted me to the fact that my mouth has perfect acoustics. I’m sure Monty Python could work with that. But no, when the rumbling drill got into a certain position I could instantly hear a 747 taking off.  It was the closest I’ve ever come to levitation.

So me and my teeth (and gums – apparently they’re important too) have started a journey which will take us…..well I’m not sure. I guess preventative maintenance will eliminate the possibility of a weekend of toothache, the cure for which, in the first 24 hours is not pain killers but cold beer, and lots of it. It’s pain killers and lots of them in the second 24 hours.