Tuesday, April 22, 2008

At Last The Tooth Is Out



After six weeks of toothache the angry fucker came out today.

Dental hospital. I was quite scared. It was like the specialist, a new specialist, not the guy I had booked in, didn't know what was going on to start with. He asked if I had come in as an emergency that day and I wasn't convinced he had a proper look at the x-rays. So I told him exactly what we were there for. He looked impressed at my handle on dental jargon. Sounded Russian but as I left I saw he was reading Arabic.

He's pulling at my tooth like a crazy bastard and calls the nurse by name. She's Russian sounding too. And her name. NATASHA. Yep, Boris and Natasha were clawing away at the back of my jaw with an urgency that would leave The Anthill Mob for dead.

At one point Boris was carving away at the broken tooth and makes the call, “Itz like I'm grating at your head, izn't it.” I mean, earlier in the the extraction I was expecting him to say, “Iz it safe? Iz it safe?” as he reached into my mouth with the biggest fuck off needle I've ever seen. Dustin Hoffman I aint.

Here's the best bit. Because the molar was already broken in a few places, looking more like a castle that even the head of the British National Trust would say, "Cor fuckin blimey, that castle's fucked, build another fucking Sainsburys on the site," at, the dentist had to cut into the gum to get the bastard out.

No, worse.

He had to CUT INTO THE NASAL CAVITY.

And get this. After much cutting and chipping he told Natasha to hold my nose closed. Then he asks me to blow hard. YES, HE WAS LOOKING FOR BUBBLES in case he cut through too much into the nasal cavity. Yes, just like you do when looking for a puncture on a bike tube. When he didn't see bubbles, he sounded relieved. I love a pessimist with a knife.

Was I assured of the absence of bubbles? Only in hindsight because for the whole time I was thinking of everything but my mouth's shoddy excavation.

Some of the many things I thought about while Boris and Natasha worked away at pulling the old and infected tooth from my gob.

Is it about time to bring Simon Prestigiacomo back into Collingwood's backline? We sure do miss James Clement.

Which game/sport has the most rules of etiquette? Golf, scrabble, or poker?

For someone who regards himself closest in politics to that of an anarchist, why am I attracted to games with complex rules of etiquette?

Let's sing Big Star's Number One Record in my mind, starting at track one.

What is it with my mates?

Why is it every week some football pundit wants to make a rule change? Why can't they leave it be?

For future reference, is the excellent, four hour parking spot I got near the Dental Hospital too far from Lygon Street?
At least it's out now.

5 comments:

Alison said...

I think you were about four clicks from meeting your spirit animal.

Katia said...

I love the free association style thoughts you had while in the chair and no! The four hour spot near the dental hospital is not too far from Lygon!

Nina said...

Where did he get his dentistry degree, at the bottom of a box of Bulgakov Flakes?

Adam said...

i know! we suck (your mates)... if we knew you were going to wait all this time just for a hatchet job we could have performed the operation ourselves months ago!

As sound as the "blow bubbles to find a puncture" theory is... do you think maybe you should get a real doctor to look at it? or at least a chinese herbalist from The Glen?

Glenn said...

Believe it or not, I'm told Dr Boris is a master of his art.

So far the stitches (did I mention there's half a spindle of cotton patched to the back of my mouth?), have withstood exactly eight sneezes.