Thursday 30 September 2010

Wisdom teeth and washing

Once again dear friends I'm gonna keep this one short, as I've burdened you with some pretty heavy stuff over these last few posts (don't worry heart-spilling will return soon for those of you who like to talk feelings, or at least read about mine!).

Two items of news, we'll start with the least interesting, but perhaps most shocking...

1. I've lived here for 4 weeks and only just now put my first load of washing on. Before you point the finger to accuse me of being a gross, smelly, inside-out-knicker-wearing-tramp-of-an-existence, I'd like to defend myself. I have worn a different, clean pair of pants every day since being here and still have approximately eleven pairs left. The reason I decided to do some washing on this particular night, is because I was down to my least favourite undies, which is when you know it's time for a wash! As to other items of clothing, I guess I just have too many clothes, as I could probably last for another month or so, but I prefer variety, to having to force myself into wardrobe B. Prepare for standby. In October, I have arranged for my parents to bring my winter wardrobe over - well, not only for that reason, I quite want to give my mum a hug too.

2. I had a wisdom tooth out today! I peddled for 20 minutes in the pouring rain to a private practice, which was quite hard to find, tucked inconveniently behind a row of houses. The whole cycle ride there I was a bit scared about a) coughing up what I was told could be in surplus of 100 euros and b) the possibility of having a tooth ripped out by a dutch man; but motivated by the nightmare of a sleep last night, (or lack of - I was woken up at hourly intervals by a toothy-throb) I pressed on. After filling in some forms, flashing my European Health Insurance card and shaking the dentist by the hand (a polite and surprising gesture which he initiated) I found myself in the dentist's chair. I know lots of people harbour fears over going to the dentist, but for me, the dentist's chair has never been a symbol of horror. I've never had problems with my teeth before, luckily blessed with an orderly set, so never before had any reason to fear. But in this foreign land, and with an aching gum, I sat and explained my problem in English to the Dutch dentist, hoping he would understand. Although I had secretly wanted them out, I was shocked and more than a little afraid when he said that the only way to solve this problem was indeed to remove my wisdom tooth - "there's not enough room in your mouth for all those teeth". He then injected my gum with anesthetic and X-rayed my tooth, which was a most invasive and unpleasant experience. Whilst the X-ray image was processed, I was dismissed to the waiting room. I felt so surreal. Something tasted really weird and I realised that my mouth was going numb. I wanted to be sick. Five long minutes later, I was summoned back into the clinic. Terrified I hotched back into the chair, with no comfort thinking, 'I've brought this on myself, why didn't I just stick the toothache out, buy some corsodyl, lay off the icing and boiled sweets ...'. I reluctantly, not merely for anxiety, but for literal numbness, opened my mouth and watched the scalpel/sharp instrument go into my mouth at the dentist's command. "We don't do it like you do in England, maybe they put you completely under. Tell me if you feel this." I am thinking, WHAT? DID I SIGN SOMETHING FOR THIS. THE RECEPTIONIST TALKED ME THROUGH SOME DUTCH FORMS, BUT SHE DIDN'T WARN ABOUT EXCRUCIATING PAIN. He gets to work and I can feel what he's doing, but not the pain; well, I can sort of feel the pain, but distantly if that makes sense. I know the anesthetic must be working or I would be pleading with him to stop; I mean you would be, wouldn't you if someone was knifing your gum to wrench tooth out. I'm expecting any moment for the insensitivity to buckle under impending agony. I can hear the sound of the knife cutting around the tooth, a sort of scratchy, etchy sound - skin splitting. And then he says, "There we go" gives it a twist and it's out. He's finished, I'm dizzy. My whole head throbs and I try to cry, but I can't. I can't move my mouth. I'm dumbfounded and I'm numb all over, which makes me mute. "You're done" he says expecting me to sprightly leap out of the chair and skip home. No thanks, I'm not moving. He asks if I'm dizzy and when I nod like a lost toddler, he lowers the chair and takes my shaking hand. After I've laid down helplessly for a moment he says that I look a much better colour and then automatically raises the chair again, which I take as my cue to leave. I go out into reception, pay, try and say goodbye in Dutch, which at the best of times is comical and now is pitiful with my half-immobilised mouth. I ring my friend for comfort as I'm disorientated and want to cry. I sound like I'm putting on a silly voice and he sounds confused. All the way home my face is numb and I think I might fall off my bike.

Five or more hours later, I've got the feeling and motion back to my face, which is unfortunately accompanied by a new ache. The dentist was right, about taking out my top tooth, even though the bottom one was the root of the problem, as it now doesn't hurt. Instead however, the hole where the top one was is a little bit sore and my whole head aches a bit, but other than that I'd say the whole procedure was far-less traumatic than expected and what's more, I got bought some ice cream (stroop waffle flavour) my by thoughtful friend Johny, so it can't all be bad!

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