Tuesday, November 08, 2011

What is in my mouth?

I woke up at stupid o'clock this morning, when my left calf decided to cramp up. This happens once a year or so, usually after I've flushed all the salts out of my body by drinking sweet, delicious booze. There was no alcoholic reason for me to be thrashing in agony on the bed. Perhaps it was just the twelve flights of stairs that made my muscles unhappy.

I woke my wife up, hissed at her to go back to sleep, then passed out myself. It turns out that even when it feels like the muscle is separating from my body, the embrace of Morpheus is stronger. And so I almost missed my conference call this morning, and spent most of the morning in a daze.

Then I went to the dentist.

Vets have the curious power to subdue animals. Somehow cats and dogs don't muck around with a vet; they know when they're up against a superior force. So it is with me and dentists; put me in the chair and before I'm even dosed up with copious amounts of drug, I'm nodding off, rendered almost unconscious with fear.

Today the dentist and his two assistants got me in the chair, then set about constructing a small tent in my mouth out of metal wires and sheets of plastic. I'm not quite sure about it (it's hard to see inside your own mouth) but it was like one of those shelters they build around manholes when doing work. Or that police forensic teams use to section off crime scenes. I was worried either way, more so when bits of the assemblage pinged out of my mouth and across the room.

After some drilling and pondering and peering into my mouth, he decided I didn't need a root canal after all - this really has been an emotional rollercoaster, and you shouldn't carry out dental procedures on any fairground rides. So I avoided more drilling - for now - but we'll be peering into my mouth again in three months time.

Perhaps with a couple of backpacks, a sleeping bag and a foam rubber mat as well this time. Or a couple of murderers in there. Who knows?


Post a Comment