You might remember a few months back (here), I mentioned that I had some serious dental work looming on the horizon. I also expressed my abject terror of said oral surgery. Well folks, today's the day. So if you find yourself with a spare moment between 12 and 1pm, spare a thought for your old pal The Swede.
Here's the late Sugar Minott to try and calm my jangling nerves.
A short while after penning this post in 2012, I had a little rethink. I tried to work out exactly where I was and who I was with the last time I went to a dentist and, following a quick recalculation based on those facts, realised that my last visit wasn't in in 1987 as I'd initially estimated, but actually in 1983. A couple of weeks ago I finally plucked up the courage, signed up to the same local dental surgery as Mrs S and went along for my first check up in 33 years. My new dentist, who wasn't even born the last time I set foot inside a surgery, expected the worst as I opened my cake-hole for inspection, but, with a couple of exceptions, was pleasantly surprised at the state of my molars. Yesterday I had a filling, taking care of the lesser of the problems he found. I was utterly terrified, but was a brave little soldier throughout the process. The other discovery made by my dentist came as no surprise, indeed I alluded to it in that post 4 years ago. A tooth at the back has crumbled beyond repair or possibility of normal extraction. It's never given me a moment of pain or discomfort, but surely will one day, so it has to be dug out - and it'll be a nasty job. I'm awaiting an appointment later in the year with a specialist, for which I will be given sedation. It'll be messy, but it's my own fault.
Here are Chatham's finest and the only Dentists I've ever really cared for, with their classic début single from 1985, 'Strawberries are Growing in My Garden (and It's Wintertime)'.
I'm a silly boy. I haven't visited a
dentist since 1987. The blame for this lies in the physical and mental trauma
inflicted on me by my dentist at that
time. He was a monster who seemed to
revel in my fear and pain.
While not up to the gleaming standards
of Keith Richards' or David Bowie's dental upgrades, my most visible molars are
actually doing quite nicely, but out
of sight, at the back of the mouth,
problems are lurking. I'll spare you
the gory details, but suffice it to
say that if and when I do pluck up the
courage to sign up to a new dentist,
there'll be serious surgery involved. Surprisingly I've had no actual pain
from my teeth over the last 25 years,
perhaps if I had, it would have given
me the kick I needed to seek out and
join a new dental practice.
Last night, however, I woke at 1.30am with a
prodding discomfort at the back of my
mouth, but on the opposite side to
where I would have expected. I took
some painkillers and worried for a
couple of hours before drifting off to
sleep again. Come this morning, after
closer inspection, it appears a piece
of peel or pip had become wedged
between tooth and gum, causing the
pain. I breathed a sigh of relief,
even though the inevitable has merely
been delayed.
As I lay in the dark waiting for the
painkillers to kick in, working myself
into a state of panic, this tune
rolled gently, but insistently around
my brain. The band is Carissa's Wierd
(yes, that's how they spelt it) and
the tune, appropriately enough, is
'Farewell to All These Rotten Teeth'
from their glorious 2002 LP 'Songs
About Leaving.' The band split in
2003, leaving a small catalogue, of
which this album is the peak. Mat
Brooke went on to join Band of Horses
and then form his current outfit,
Grand Archives, while Jenn Ghetto
currently trades as 'S'.
As mental preparation for what will
one day surely come, if anyone has a
positive dentist experience to share,
I'd be delighted to hear it. Meantime,
enjoy the tune and don't forget to floss.
A short while after penning this post in 2012, I had a little rethink. I tried to work out exactly where I was and who I was with the last time I went to a dentist and, following a quick recalculation based on those facts, realised that my last visit wasn't in in 1987 as I'd initially estimated, but actually in 1983. A couple of weeks ago I finally plucked up the courage, signed up to the same local dental surgery as Mrs S and went along for my first check up in 33 years. My new dentist, who wasn't even born the last time I set foot inside a surgery, expected the worst as I opened my cake-hole for inspection, but, with a couple of exceptions, was pleasantly surprised at the state of my molars. Yesterday I had a filling, taking care of the lesser of the problems he found. I was utterly terrified, but was a brave little soldier throughout the process. The other discovery made by my dentist came as no surprise, indeed I alluded to it in that post 4 years ago. A tooth at the back has crumbled beyond repair or possibility of normal extraction. It's never given me a moment of pain or discomfort, but surely will one day, so it has to be dug out - and it'll be a nasty job. I'm awaiting an appointment later in the year with a specialist, for which I will be given sedation. It'll be messy, but it's my own fault.
