Why can't I just have some of these every day instead?
Regular blurbs readers who, like faithful ugg boots worn long ago before they were declared fashionable, may recall an early article I wrote on my crazy crown crackin' capers: http://blurbfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2005/12/crazy-crown-crackin-capers-some-of-you_19.html.
Well, last week I was again back at Dr T's dental surgery for cracking my back crown tooth for the third time.
"Well well well MillyMoo so you've done it again, have you? These teeth are made upstairs by Bill, the best in the business, using the latest in materials that are so strong they'll be the only thing left of you after cremation. What the hell are you doing?"
"Errm, I don't know," I mumbled. "I wear my triple-strength mouthguard every night and, after I fall asleep, I'm unconscious, so it's a bit hard to tell you what kind of grinding or clenching is happening. Love Chunks doesn't reckon he hears anything when I'm asleep other than making him suffer through an occasional dutch oven, but that's a completely non-dental issue..."
Dr T sighed and pushed his glasses further along his nose. "You know now, that as a third time cracker, that you'll have the dubious honour of making it into the annual Dental Surgery christmas party problem patient list, don't you?"
Before I could think of any kind of witty response, he peered into my mouth and decided, "Actually I'm going to have to yank this baby out and make you a new one. This is too far gone to repair or save. Brace yourself - we'll need three injections today."
Several minutes later, tears of pain were slowly rolling down the edges of my cheeks and plopping insultingly into my ears. The ceiling tiles up above were compiled of twenty seven rows of twenty seven tiny little holes and my main goal in life was to avoid seeing the reflection of my gaping wounded mouth in Dr T's goggles. The building and construction noises occurring outside in Waymouth Street just served as
Despite being anaesthetised enough to elicit empathy from a stroke victim, I could most definitely feel the drill going down into the root canal. Coupled with the heavy pressure of having Dr T practically kneel on my shoulders for ballast as he yanked the crown out with some depraved dental pliers wasn't helping matters any. With all of the self-control I could muster, my face and shoulders remained still, but my feet were jerking like Jack Nicholson in the 'Cuckoo's Nest' lobotomy scene.
Today, five days later, the right side of my jaw and my skull is throbbing away like a neighbourhood dance party and I'm looking forward to my Friday morning new tooth installation with about as much excitement as a pap-smear patient being viewed by a class of med students. Come to think of it, maybe the pap smear wouldn't be so bad after all - at least they wouldn't see my face.....