This blog has been provided by Stephen Terry BLOG for Inspire.
One pesky molar that I’ve had filled several times, started to play up real bad a week ago. Frankly, there’s not much of the tooth left, and for awhile I was contemplating extraction, along with suicidal tendencies (alright, I can be a drama queen).
Then it started to settle down with liberal use of Sensodyne toothpaste. It didn’t go away, and I couldn’t bite on it. So my honey arranged an appointment at short notice, Friday at 9:30.
One hour’s drive away.
Also, a good opportunity to top up my grocery cupboard (a large blue plastic box on the floor in my kitchen) at TESCO – yep, they’re everywhere.
9:25. ‘Take a seat,’ said the dentist’s wife, receptionist, pre-examiner, assistant, pharmacist, cashier, and child-minder. Busy woman.
Modern surgery, clean toilet, comfortable sofas, large screen TV with English films, magazines dated 2005, and one other woman waiting. Then the door-bell rang – a matchstick man entered and sat down.
9:50. I heard drilling from the surgery. Let me explain. There is one dentist – he must be in his fifties – and he accommodates two patients at a time. The surgery room is split – one patient has an injection, and while it is taking effect, he can adminster another. You get the picture; maximise time, maximise earnings. Busy man. And rich.
10.00. The door-bell wakes me up from a snooze. A man with his young daughter enter and he converses with the woman who has returned to her reception duties. I get the gist that his daughter has a toothache.
He sits down, while his daughter hangs around at the desk – she’s probably shy seeing me glaring at her.
Will I be guzumped?
10:15. More drilling, but also voices. The waiting woman starts to move on her seat and gathers up her belongings.
Then settles down again. False alarm.
10:25. The surgery door opens and one well-dressed woman exits with a happy look on her face as though she just had a beauty treatment. The waiting woman is her taxi ride; she pays her bill and they both leave.
10:30 The matchstick man and myself are ushered into the surgery. I wait while the dentist attends to the matchstick. My tooth doesn’t hurt at all – in fact I ask myself why I am here.
A few minutes pass, then the DENTIST comes in and welcomes me. He is a kindly man, very attentive, and listens to my expert diagnosis. With his wife sitting in.
I open my mouth. He sprays water at it.
He taps it with what feels like a hammer. He didn’t need to ask, I was almost out of my seat. Not satisfied – maybe he thought I was having fun – he gives it another tap. Same reaction.
‘Have infection,’ he says. ‘Need root canal treatment.’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Good treatment,’ he replied.
‘How long it take?’
‘Five time … every three day, come back’
‘No … must go Philippines, August.’
‘Have much pain.’
That didn’t sound too good.
There was a discussion. Total 6,000 baht (£120) for full treatment in two stages.
Taking my life in my hands, I agreed. He smiled.
‘Drill HOLE … drain infection.’
He picked up a Black and Decker and jabbed it right in my tooth. Every single one of my muscles tensed up, my hands superglued to the chair. Waiting for the agony to kick-in. Amazingly, it never arrived. When he paused for breath, I stammered out,
‘Nerve go … painless.’
And it was. My faith in his expertise was total. All I had to do was to replace the cotton wool plug every day.
‘Come back three days. Can start treat root.’
He explained my molar had three roots – each one needed whatever it was – I had no idea. Still don’t. AND DON’T WANT TO KNOW.
10:50. Antibiotics, painkillers for five days and an appointment for this Wednesday. Cost THREE POUNDS for that session.
P.S. Sensodyne Repair and Protect toothpaste at TESCO cost me 70p more.
There must be a moral to this story – more saga later…
This blog was written for inspire by http://stephenterry.weebly.com/blog-page/thailand-tales-a-trip-to-the-dentist