Chew on this
Thursday, September 02, 2004
The day started with part of my tooth falling into my bowl of muesli. Another year older, another tooth gone.
On the flight back from Malaga recently I felt - and heard - a crack as I bit into some doubtful ciabatta roll. A jagged edge has been attracting my tongue ever since. Well, this morning some oat flake or piece of dried forest fruits wound itself around this edge and my tongue dutifully began the work of separating food from dentistry. The tongue did well. Too well. The freed food remnant was chewed and swallowed before I felt and heard another familiar crack. This time the cause of the crack was actually between my teeth. I opened my mouth and a chunk of tooth the size of one of those bits of plastic that go in the end of a Bic biro fell out. When my tongue rushed to investigate the scene of the accident I could feel that one whole side of the tooth had disappeared.
Now here's the lucky thing. Two lucky things, actually. Firstly, I have an appointment at the dentist's already booked for the 13th of this month. Secondly, and more importantly - as I wouldn't normally expect to last a fortnight with the nerves of my tooth exposed - this tooth is long dead and its roots as drilled and canalled as Panama.
For many years I simply avoided going to the dentist, the result of some dreadful experiences with a sadistic practitioner in Edinburgh while I still had my 'baby' teeth. The result of this dental neglect was not as bad as it could have been: a total of two fillings and the root canal. The experience of having the root canal done has converted me to a regular attendee at the dental clinic, however.
So my birthday so far has been dominated by my tooth and trying to stop my tongue probing ever further into its now exposed recesses.
On the flight back from Malaga recently I felt - and heard - a crack as I bit into some doubtful ciabatta roll. A jagged edge has been attracting my tongue ever since. Well, this morning some oat flake or piece of dried forest fruits wound itself around this edge and my tongue dutifully began the work of separating food from dentistry. The tongue did well. Too well. The freed food remnant was chewed and swallowed before I felt and heard another familiar crack. This time the cause of the crack was actually between my teeth. I opened my mouth and a chunk of tooth the size of one of those bits of plastic that go in the end of a Bic biro fell out. When my tongue rushed to investigate the scene of the accident I could feel that one whole side of the tooth had disappeared.
Now here's the lucky thing. Two lucky things, actually. Firstly, I have an appointment at the dentist's already booked for the 13th of this month. Secondly, and more importantly - as I wouldn't normally expect to last a fortnight with the nerves of my tooth exposed - this tooth is long dead and its roots as drilled and canalled as Panama.
For many years I simply avoided going to the dentist, the result of some dreadful experiences with a sadistic practitioner in Edinburgh while I still had my 'baby' teeth. The result of this dental neglect was not as bad as it could have been: a total of two fillings and the root canal. The experience of having the root canal done has converted me to a regular attendee at the dental clinic, however.
So my birthday so far has been dominated by my tooth and trying to stop my tongue probing ever further into its now exposed recesses.
