Long post. Something to sink your teeth into.
Given the fact that the author's grandfather was a doctor, it is rather ironic that both she and her family share an anathema for the Hippocratic guild. Most ailments were greeted with little or no fuss, so much so that the germs soon got bored of our indifference and left the building faster than you could say "Elvis". A perfectly decent method, but the situation is a little different when the source of discomfort isn't a real pathogen. And, when the epicenter of pain is located at the back of your mouth.
When it comes to wisdom teeth, here's a word of advice- don't let it be.
The mater's tryst with toothache crumbled the foundations of her dental state. Literally. She opted for dental care only after the tooth began to actually crumble into little shards-- up until then it was the classic clove oil /ice treatment. Having worn her wisdom tooth down to a stub, and rendered her face asymmetrically swollen, she finally swallowed the bitter pill that she needed help with her dental work. As it turned out, it was quite a bit of work. In keeping with the family character, her (now) tiny wisdom tooth had roots that ran deep, stubborn and twisted. The dentist probably wrenched his shoulder trying to get the tooth out, and it didn't help that he had an angry twelve year old staring daggers at him for the unspeakable violence he was inflicting, no matter that her mother's mouth was insensible. Following a tug of of war, which left the dentist bathed in sweat and heaving for breath, my mother emerged cotton-mouthed, pain free and generally rejuvenated. Even the returned feeling to her benumbed mouth could not compare to the agony from before and she had admit she was much better. Following this episode, dentists were deemed ok. Sort of .
Which would explain why the advent of an impacted wisdom tooth in the daughter was greeted with prompt marching orders to the nearest dentist.
In a clear case of a spatial paradox, my big mouth's jaw was too small for all the wisdom bursting out of it. True, the molars had begun to make their presence felt quite a while back, but their no-pain-no-gain policy was largely benevolent, allowing for life to continue uneventfully regardless of space crunch issues on the jawline. Unfortunately, the right-wing tooth decided that it was time to go Lokpal (Lok-pallu. hehehe.) and demand justice. It ached, throbbed, got a swollen sense of self, generally became a pain in the head. And would have been ignored as usual if not for the fact that phone calls had to be conducted through gritted teeth all the better for not moving the jaw-- apparently this is a dead give away even if you are a state and bad phone-line away. The maternal instruction was augmented by additional exhortations from other quarters which gained traction from the simple agony of angry tooth. The final blow was the fact that a hunger-driven sortie to the mess saw me effectively destroying multiple appetites through my pained winces at every chew. A day of cold compressing and badly disguised phone-winces later I had to accept the sad truth: It was time to see a doctor. Damn it.
Then came the inevitable verdict.
The tooth had to come out. Urgh.
Let me clarify the context. The only time I'd gone for a tooth extraction was waaaaaaay back when my age was still a single digit number. All dental escapades that followed, were conducted by yours truly (I distinctly remember pulling out both my loose canines on the same evening simply because I was bored.) The thought of a dentist navigating these uncharted territories was a huge breach of privacy. Besides, being in a dentists chair is a supremely undignified position, splayed like an upended beetle with your mouth is wide open,constantly worried that your over-sensitive gag reflex will kick in an spew out. It didn't help that my brain, usually reticent and retiring, chose to to efficiently relay my tenth standard Ogden Nash lesson word for word. And when that memory was pushed aside, it decided to remind me of this movie. Ah the vagaries of the mind.
In all fairness, the most uncomfortable part was getting the anesthetic injection. Your mouth has been subjected to a lot of things, but being poked in the gums with a sharp needle is not one of them. Understandably, the reaction is not the most pleasant. In any case, the introduction of chemical assistance rendered the entire right side of my face, and a large part of the left, impervious to all sensation. It would have been a good day to get my threading done, had circumstances been different. Now that the face was properly benumbed, there was no more stalling. Extraction time. Once again Ogden Nash's infernal poem ran slides in my head as the doc pulled on his mask and took out what looked like a wrench-spanner hybrid and a pygmy chisel-lever. Just as the good doctor leveled the first blow, the author's mind began providing a beautiful background score of the magnificent Reethigowla Ragam she was learning at the moment ( and which will now probably be permanently associated with dentistry). Ah the vagaries of the mind.
The wisdom tooth, like beloved Will's love, does not "...bend with the remover to remove...". True, there was no epic battle as in the case of the Mater's molar, but the dentist did have to put in a couple of extra ounces of muscle into the task. The tooth did not want to come out and its roots clung stubbornly to my jaw. The dentist dug and pulled and twisted and pulled and poked and pulled and tugged and pulled and pulled, trying to shake the tooth out of its foundations. My mouth, desensitized as it was, twinged in sympathetic discomfort. And some annoyance too, since the doctor's enthusiastic levering was stretching the mouth in to unbelievable shapes. Through all the pulling and chipping and poking, the author's consciousness, still pleasantly serenaded with classical music, fixed itself upon the fact that the doctor had the kind of perfectly curved eyebrows that were positively wasted on a man. Once again, we wonder at the vagaries of the mind.
Just as I was beginning to draft a complaint to the powers that be regarding the dentist's unfair eyebrow advantage, with a last wrenching tug the tooth came out. And what a tooth it was! Large with solid curved roots that could and did hold its ground, it was the Leonidas of my dental Thermopylae: no wonder it was causing so much trouble. But I didn't have much time to contemplate the beauty of my lost wisdom. Bereft of the distraction of mental background music and curved eyebrows, the senses were suddenly assaulted by the nauseating miasma of acrid chemical, the bitter taste and smell of latex gloves and the overpowering scent of blood that flooded the mouth. This general discomfort was compounded by the insertion of large wads of cotton in mutilated area which promptly set gag-reflexes jumping .The author was suddenly very glad she hadn't eaten anything before the performance. Tamping down on the rising bile was made difficult by the fact that all the muscles on the gagging side weren't listening to you. Providence kept the contents of the stomach where it belonged and the dentist escaped unscathed. Cotton in place and blood wiped away, normalcy was more or less regained except for a slight tendency to lose control over the right side of face and the very real danger of drooling and not knowing it. Communication for the large part was carried out with animated head shakes, expressive eye-rolling and an erstwhile unplumbed talent for dumb-charades; a very amusing turn of events for spectators like the pharmacist and his assistant who seemed to have great fun trying to figure out what I was trying to say.
Opting to walk rather than trying to communicate destination and fare to autodriver-bretheren gave me the time to contemplate the fate of the tooth. I had tried to redeem it as a souvenir of the experience, but it had already been disposed of. I suppose in a sense I mourned it's loss-- that overlarge piece of enamel that clung so tenaciously, so desperately to a jaw that simply could not accommodate it, now lying at the bottom of an alien dustbin. But then again, it would only have decayed in the claustrophobic cavity of the jaw, destined to being whittled into a tiny half-shard of itself, that would only get attention through pain and torture. Better by far that it free itself in this early age, strong and white. Or so I tell myself. Returning to hostel, to what would be the first of many bowls of cold oats, I toast the lost tooth: your memory lives on in all the grains of rice that will inevitably end up in the shallow niche that you left behind, reminding me that gaps will be filled whether you want it or not. Rest in (one) piece.
Given the fact that the author's grandfather was a doctor, it is rather ironic that both she and her family share an anathema for the Hippocratic guild. Most ailments were greeted with little or no fuss, so much so that the germs soon got bored of our indifference and left the building faster than you could say "Elvis". A perfectly decent method, but the situation is a little different when the source of discomfort isn't a real pathogen. And, when the epicenter of pain is located at the back of your mouth.
When it comes to wisdom teeth, here's a word of advice- don't let it be.
The mater's tryst with toothache crumbled the foundations of her dental state. Literally. She opted for dental care only after the tooth began to actually crumble into little shards-- up until then it was the classic clove oil /ice treatment. Having worn her wisdom tooth down to a stub, and rendered her face asymmetrically swollen, she finally swallowed the bitter pill that she needed help with her dental work. As it turned out, it was quite a bit of work. In keeping with the family character, her (now) tiny wisdom tooth had roots that ran deep, stubborn and twisted. The dentist probably wrenched his shoulder trying to get the tooth out, and it didn't help that he had an angry twelve year old staring daggers at him for the unspeakable violence he was inflicting, no matter that her mother's mouth was insensible. Following a tug of of war, which left the dentist bathed in sweat and heaving for breath, my mother emerged cotton-mouthed, pain free and generally rejuvenated. Even the returned feeling to her benumbed mouth could not compare to the agony from before and she had admit she was much better. Following this episode, dentists were deemed ok. Sort of .
Which would explain why the advent of an impacted wisdom tooth in the daughter was greeted with prompt marching orders to the nearest dentist.
In a clear case of a spatial paradox, my big mouth's jaw was too small for all the wisdom bursting out of it. True, the molars had begun to make their presence felt quite a while back, but their no-pain-no-gain policy was largely benevolent, allowing for life to continue uneventfully regardless of space crunch issues on the jawline. Unfortunately, the right-wing tooth decided that it was time to go Lokpal (Lok-pallu. hehehe.) and demand justice. It ached, throbbed, got a swollen sense of self, generally became a pain in the head. And would have been ignored as usual if not for the fact that phone calls had to be conducted through gritted teeth all the better for not moving the jaw-- apparently this is a dead give away even if you are a state and bad phone-line away. The maternal instruction was augmented by additional exhortations from other quarters which gained traction from the simple agony of angry tooth. The final blow was the fact that a hunger-driven sortie to the mess saw me effectively destroying multiple appetites through my pained winces at every chew. A day of cold compressing and badly disguised phone-winces later I had to accept the sad truth: It was time to see a doctor. Damn it.
Then came the inevitable verdict.
The tooth had to come out. Urgh.
Let me clarify the context. The only time I'd gone for a tooth extraction was waaaaaaay back when my age was still a single digit number. All dental escapades that followed, were conducted by yours truly (I distinctly remember pulling out both my loose canines on the same evening simply because I was bored.) The thought of a dentist navigating these uncharted territories was a huge breach of privacy. Besides, being in a dentists chair is a supremely undignified position, splayed like an upended beetle with your mouth is wide open,constantly worried that your over-sensitive gag reflex will kick in an spew out. It didn't help that my brain, usually reticent and retiring, chose to to efficiently relay my tenth standard Ogden Nash lesson word for word. And when that memory was pushed aside, it decided to remind me of this movie. Ah the vagaries of the mind.
In all fairness, the most uncomfortable part was getting the anesthetic injection. Your mouth has been subjected to a lot of things, but being poked in the gums with a sharp needle is not one of them. Understandably, the reaction is not the most pleasant. In any case, the introduction of chemical assistance rendered the entire right side of my face, and a large part of the left, impervious to all sensation. It would have been a good day to get my threading done, had circumstances been different. Now that the face was properly benumbed, there was no more stalling. Extraction time. Once again Ogden Nash's infernal poem ran slides in my head as the doc pulled on his mask and took out what looked like a wrench-spanner hybrid and a pygmy chisel-lever. Just as the good doctor leveled the first blow, the author's mind began providing a beautiful background score of the magnificent Reethigowla Ragam she was learning at the moment ( and which will now probably be permanently associated with dentistry). Ah the vagaries of the mind.
The wisdom tooth, like beloved Will's love, does not "...bend with the remover to remove...". True, there was no epic battle as in the case of the Mater's molar, but the dentist did have to put in a couple of extra ounces of muscle into the task. The tooth did not want to come out and its roots clung stubbornly to my jaw. The dentist dug and pulled and twisted and pulled and poked and pulled and tugged and pulled and pulled, trying to shake the tooth out of its foundations. My mouth, desensitized as it was, twinged in sympathetic discomfort. And some annoyance too, since the doctor's enthusiastic levering was stretching the mouth in to unbelievable shapes. Through all the pulling and chipping and poking, the author's consciousness, still pleasantly serenaded with classical music, fixed itself upon the fact that the doctor had the kind of perfectly curved eyebrows that were positively wasted on a man. Once again, we wonder at the vagaries of the mind.
Just as I was beginning to draft a complaint to the powers that be regarding the dentist's unfair eyebrow advantage, with a last wrenching tug the tooth came out. And what a tooth it was! Large with solid curved roots that could and did hold its ground, it was the Leonidas of my dental Thermopylae: no wonder it was causing so much trouble. But I didn't have much time to contemplate the beauty of my lost wisdom. Bereft of the distraction of mental background music and curved eyebrows, the senses were suddenly assaulted by the nauseating miasma of acrid chemical, the bitter taste and smell of latex gloves and the overpowering scent of blood that flooded the mouth. This general discomfort was compounded by the insertion of large wads of cotton in mutilated area which promptly set gag-reflexes jumping .The author was suddenly very glad she hadn't eaten anything before the performance. Tamping down on the rising bile was made difficult by the fact that all the muscles on the gagging side weren't listening to you. Providence kept the contents of the stomach where it belonged and the dentist escaped unscathed. Cotton in place and blood wiped away, normalcy was more or less regained except for a slight tendency to lose control over the right side of face and the very real danger of drooling and not knowing it. Communication for the large part was carried out with animated head shakes, expressive eye-rolling and an erstwhile unplumbed talent for dumb-charades; a very amusing turn of events for spectators like the pharmacist and his assistant who seemed to have great fun trying to figure out what I was trying to say.
Opting to walk rather than trying to communicate destination and fare to autodriver-bretheren gave me the time to contemplate the fate of the tooth. I had tried to redeem it as a souvenir of the experience, but it had already been disposed of. I suppose in a sense I mourned it's loss-- that overlarge piece of enamel that clung so tenaciously, so desperately to a jaw that simply could not accommodate it, now lying at the bottom of an alien dustbin. But then again, it would only have decayed in the claustrophobic cavity of the jaw, destined to being whittled into a tiny half-shard of itself, that would only get attention through pain and torture. Better by far that it free itself in this early age, strong and white. Or so I tell myself. Returning to hostel, to what would be the first of many bowls of cold oats, I toast the lost tooth: your memory lives on in all the grains of rice that will inevitably end up in the shallow niche that you left behind, reminding me that gaps will be filled whether you want it or not. Rest in (one) piece.
5 comments:
you do have adventures.. such funny ones heh heh
the dentist film sounded hilarious as well
"Adventure" is one way of looking at it :D
And the film was not very amusing when you are prone on the chair and your mind runs rushes of the decidedly gruesome trailer you saw once upon a time.
Though, I have to admit, Wikipedia does much to demystify the movie's dubious horror factor.
remember the time sj got c.pox and you were made to lie with him so that u would catch it too - and u didnt - the germs probably scared of ur bulldozer personality.
and blog visitors dont comment cos they rnt as creative as some of us - nor maybe as jobless
attach a zip to those wires and zzipitup .... [somebody stop me]
Yeah and at other Sj played the lacto-calamine coated monster and I played the double role of scared villager and avenging hero who vanquished him. Ah the imaginations of 4-8yr olds...
I think the germs are not the only things scared by my personality ;D
I will have to agree with you on the lack of creativity part: the second is patently untrue. You find yourself inclined to comment ESPECIALLY when you have another job to do :P
And attaching zips involve too much work. :-/
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