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IC : Weblogs : DillyTante : "Underlay! Underlay!"
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Underlay! Underlay! (16)
DillyTante's profile
Posted by DillyTante on Mon 22 Jan 07, 4:11 PM
I've not encountered a dentist socially. I'm guessing that dentists do socialise with civilians, it's just that I've not met one in that context. Either that or for fear of career related, social discrimination, they disguise themselves as artists, plumbers or accountants instead. It's likely therefore that my perception of dentists isn't as objective as it might be.
I've no idea for example, what motivates someone to be a dentist. It's a bit like proctologists really. I don't get that either. I can see there might be a certain amount of family tradition in some cases. 'Bernard, this family has a long tradition of being in bottoms and if you won't join the church or army...'
Seriously though. What would possess the idealistic young medical student to choose proctology as a career? Is it a Damascene moment?
Anyway. Dentists though, dentists are just that little bit odder than proctologists I think. If you discount those who select dentistry as a safe and steady career. If you then remove those who are kinked for mouths or teeth, or sadists (or all three), then what can possibly motivate those of the remainder; those who select dentistry as their way of earning a crust for the remainder of their working lives?
It's safe to say that I'm deeply mistrustful of dentists. Although possibly unjustly so.
This is something I think about only occasionally. Usually when I've a toothache I'm ignoring. I've a firm policy of ignoring toothaches because the alternative, that horrible alternative of the dentist's chair and what transpires in it, is too awful to contemplate.
Inevitably every few years or so, horrible contemplation must lead me to horrid but undeniable reality. An attention seeking tooth, will defy my best efforts at indifference. And I will be forced eventually to seek professional help.
Thus it was on a dark and stormy lunchtime (Thursday of last week), I set out to establish the exact whereabouts of the fabled New NHS Dentist With an Unusual Name. I was glum. This was more of an adventure than I might have preferred. No one seemed to know the precise location of the surgery and in addition I was told that the chap was only there on Tuesdays and Thursdays and didn't have a landline.
I must make something clear. I wouldn't have been seeking out this mythical creature, had I not spent some months, feigning indifference to a wobbly and increasingly painful wisdom tooth. Actually, if I could have yanked the bloody thing out myself, this would be an entirely different tale. Quite possibly triumph flavoured and satisfyingly gory.
As it was, a desperate decision was made. As long as the bugger possessed pliers and a willingness to use them, I didn't care how dodgy he might be.
Buffeted by a howling gale, I found an ancient doorway next to the estate agents by the clock-tower. A handwritten and not entirely comprehensible paper sign flapped vigorously in the wild wind. Tatty elderly wooden steps creaked upwards to three equally tatty, tiny rooms, crammed with furniture and junk.
Behind a desk in one of the rooms, was a very pretty but irate young woman in her late twenties. She scowled at me and enquired my business in what (to my untutored ears), sounded like a thick Hispanic accent.
Early exposure to spaghetti westerns in my formative years, merged with pain and dread. Reality temporarily became skewed. Retrospectively I know that the floors weren't really strewen with blood and sawdust. Nor did I really hear a flourish of guitars along with a forlorn and slightly discordant harmonica as I entered. And The Receptionist didn't really spit black tobacco with startling accuracy into a spittoon nearby, before drawling, "Heh! Gringo! You look for Denteest here?'
It must be said that we didn't begin well though. She didn't understand me. This may have been because she wouldn't allow me to finish a sentence. Within seconds we were locked into an administration related dispute which I won eventually. This was by dint of polite and patient repetition of the first bit of my sentence until I could eventually gabble out the second part before she cut me off again. With hard and snapping eyes, The Receptionist reluctantly conceded the point, before shoving a novel's worth of paperwork at me.
I returned the completed forms to the incomprehensibly enraged young woman and took a seat in the miniscule waiting room.
The Dentist appeared almost immediately and whisked me away into his tiny, overly furnished torture chamber. He too had a strong accent which he used to great effect as he explained that I had an infection. His soft voice and accent made it all sound rather romantic actually, but I digress. The infection meant that I'd a choice of having antibiotics and then returning for an extraction. Or having the tooth out immediately - but it might hurt a bit more.
In the middle of this seductive consultation, The Receptionist slammed into the room and shot The Dentist a look of pure hatred before theatrically rustling some papers in a filing cabinet. For his part, The Dentist went very still. He paused in his explanations to me but otherwise loftily ignored Ms. Spittingly Furious. Perhaps they were married. Or siblings. The level of loathing demonstrated on both sides, could be appropriate for either relationship I thought. The Receptionist exited as furiously as she'd entered. The Dentist cordially resumed his conversation with me.
Having got this far and not at all sure of the strength of my future resolve, I opted for immediate tooth removal. This despite my confusion at his diagnosis of an infection, without first looking in my mouth.
Injections followed. Lots of injections. Some of which hurt a bit. One of which hurt sufficiently as to prompt a gravity defying, whole-body vertical jump of some inches out of the chair. Then a testing wiggle. Which also hurt a bit, so more injections were required. All delivered with murmured soothing comments from the sanguine tooth bandit. Then a crunch and muffled exclamation of triumph (Underlay! Underlay!) heralded the forcible eviction of my sodding wisdom tooth.
Then began serious embarrassment. I'd forgotten how badly I react to dental treatment. On those rare occasions I've been unable to evade it, generally I've taken an escort. Someone to wheel the wobbly Dilly back home.
I stood up and rattled violently from head to foot. The Dentist was oblivious. He was absorbed in his collection of shiny sharp things. I took a cautious step and promptly fell down an unexpected stair. A little surprised, the dentist advised me to sit in the waiting room for a bit, while I regained control of my helplessly juddering self. By this time, there was an elderly man waiting there. I was aware (and abstractly it amused me) that he was watching my uncontrollable shudders, with an expresssion of compassion mixed with horror on his face. I just bet he couldn't wait for his own turn in the chair.
As soon as my legs could hold me, I juddered out of there like a bat out of hell with its radar slightly buggered. I wobbled back home through the spectacular storm. I dodged some low-flying roof slates more by good luck than good management and unlocked my front door with shaking hands. I avoided the boisterous attentions of The Mumper and sank gratefully onto my sofa to enjoy another good nervous spasm.
Woe was bloody me, I can tell you.
I decided that a comforting cup of tea, a fag (sod the numb mouth, I'd be careful) and a hot water bottle were in order. Accordingly, I filled the kettle and switched it on.
And the power went off.
For ten hours.
I might have sworn, if my slackly numb mouth could have formed an eff shape. Instead I think I made a sound like like 'Erg'. And drooled crossly.
I was rescued by friends with soup and boiling water, which annoyed me a bit too. I ask you. How are you supposed to feel properly and dramatically sorry for yourself, when friends are interrupting helpfully? Dagnabbit!
Later that evening feeling several glasses of wine better, I related my tale of woe on the phone to an appropriately sympathetic friend. And realised I was a bit perplexed.
You see, I think I might be a bit illogical. No. Really. I might! My dentist event, was certainly uncomfortable and not very nice I admit. Bits of it hurt - well... a bit. Yet for fun and pleasure, I've experienced far worse pain. With luck and a prevailing wind, I will again.
I don't dread that. Obviously. Nor do I make such a bloody great big fuss about it before, during and after the occasion. In fact, afterwards I feel just great.
Perhaps I ought to consider teaching myself to associate dental events with pleasure and excitement.
I shall contemplate that strategy, the next time I have toothache.
Maybe.
Errr...
Replies
22 Jan 07, 5:04 PM
playzone
UK, 2 yrs
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I was fine until I got to the bit about the power going off - then I just HAD to laugh, sorry it was not really funny, just my warped sense of humour got kicked into action.
Hope your tooth space feels better soon. Da mihi castitatem et incorruptus, sed noli modo
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22 Jan 07, 5:14 PM
DillyTante
UK, 3 yrs
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playzone wrote:
I was fine until I got to the bit about the power going off - then I just HAD to laugh, sorry it was not really funny, just my warped sense of humour got kicked into action. |
Heh! I'm a bit cursed actually playzone. I can't have a crisis, tragedy or melodrama without something inappropriately amusing happening. You should get me on the subject of funerals.
Or perhaps... better not
Hope your tooth space feels better soon.
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Actually, it's not so bad now thanks  Dilly
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22 Jan 07, 5:17 PM
subsumed
UK, 8 yrs
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In my experience, based on 2 girls I knew from school, people became dentists because they really wanted to get into medical school but couldn't get an (achievable) offer from Uni. Applying to do dentistry was a popular alternative, because, or so I was told, there was always a chance that once you had got your feet under the table and done half a term or so, you might be able to persuade the Dean of the Medical faculty to let you switch to medicine. Personally I'm with you. I can't imagine anyone whose first choice of career would involve looking in people's mouths all day!
Enjoyed the tale very much by the way. |
22 Jan 07, 5:19 PM
PFLsAgain
UK, 3 yrs
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DillyTante wrote:
Anyway. Dentists though, dentists are just that little bit odder than proctologists I think. If you discount those who select dentistry as a safe and steady career. If you then remove those who are kinked for mouths or teeth, or sadists (or all three), then what can possibly motivate those of the remainder; those who select dentistry as their way of earning a crust for the remainder of their working lives? |
My ex- was a dentist. Specifically a singing dentist (I'm not kidding). His biggest ambition was to play Orin Scrivello in the Little Shop of Horrors. Imagine his dismay when he was actually cast as Seymour the signing nerd 
He (my ex-singing dentist) was far from a sadist though. He simply loved teeth and I'm pretty sure he was a sub although he never got up the courage to mention that to me
The only useful piece of advice he ever gave me was "never have your wisdom teeth extracted outside of a dental hospital". Perhaps I should have mentioned that to you earlier... "I learned what every dreaming child needs to know - no horizon is so far that you cannot see above or beyond it." ~ Beryl Markham (first pilot to cross the Atlantic solo the hard way - East to West)
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22 Jan 07, 5:29 PM
DillyTante
UK, 3 yrs
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subsumed wrote:
In my experience, based on 2 girls I knew from school, people became dentists because they really wanted to get into medical school but couldn't get an (achievable) offer from Uni. |
Oh I see. That must also explain some of the less benign tooth doctors I encountered as a kid. I could see how disappointment at finding oneself as a dentist rather than doctor, might eventually lead to sadism
subsumed wrote:
Personally I'm with you. I can't imagine anyone whose first choice of career would involve looking in people's mouths all day!
Enjoyed the tale very much by the way.
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It is odd isn't it? And thank you Dilly
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22 Jan 07, 5:34 PM
DillyTante
UK, 3 yrs
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PFLsAgain wrote:
My ex- was a dentist. Specifically a singing dentist (I'm not kidding). His biggest ambition was to play Orin Scrivello in the Little Shop of Horrors. Imagine his dismay when he was actually cast as Seymour the signing nerd |
Oh how wonderful! Serves him right!
He (my ex-singing dentist) was far from a sadist though. He simply loved teeth and I'm pretty sure he was a sub although he never got up the courage to mention that to me
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How can you possibly love teeth? No. Actually, I really don't need to know.
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The only useful piece of advice he ever gave me was "never have your wisdom teeth extracted outside of a dental hospital". Perhaps I should have mentioned that to you earlier...
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Ah. Thanks for that timely advice Ms. Again. I shall bear it in mind should I fail in future endeavours to eroticise my adventures in dentistry and require a similar procedure Dilly
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22 Jan 07, 6:40 PM
alexandraa
UK(NW), 5 yrs
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Hahahaha brilliant blog.
I have to admit. I also get the same wobble. I went to my dentist last week and just had a small filling, no problem at all you'd think. I didn't feel that nervous about it or even upset while he was doing it. But when I got up from the chair my legs were all over the place. I retreated to the toilet to calm down and get my shakes and shivers under control. It was almost a similar wobbly feeling to the shakes you get after a big caning or such like. I suppose it's the adrenalin rush.
I had the same thought process that I should be able to turn this fear and pain into pleasure and fun, but I don't seem to be wired that way.
alex xx Be careful what you wish for
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22 Jan 07, 6:51 PM
Theoldman
2 yrs |
I always wanted to be a dentist (never a doctor). God knows why as I didn't like being on the receiving end. Maybe I was a sadist wanted to get my own back on the world (you'll have to ask Zappy that one).
Alas cruising through O and A levels left me a bit short of UCCA points and I fell in to science and became a Tax Inspector.
So I guess the sadist streak runs true - both jobs involve extraction of things from people usually against their better judgement.
Fun story though, thanks for sharing it. A friend in need's a friend in deed, a friend who'll tease is better.
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22 Jan 07, 7:37 PM
DillyTante
UK, 3 yrs
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alexandraa wrote:
I have to admit. I also get the same wobble. I went to my dentist last week and just had a small filling, no problem at all you'd think. [...] |
Oh dear gawd. The drill! I have to be given intravenous Valium, for the DRILL! I can't even bear the sound of it.
I had the same thought process that I should be able to turn this fear and pain into pleasure and fun, but I don't seem to be wired that way. |
It's a nuisance, isn't it?
Dilly
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22 Jan 07, 7:37 PM
DillyTante
UK, 3 yrs
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Theoldman wrote:
I always wanted to be a dentist (never a doctor). [...] and I fell in to science and became a Tax Inspector.
So I guess the sadist streak runs true - both jobs involve extraction of things from people usually against their better judgement. |
Ah. There's nothing quite like informed but extremely reluctant consent, is there?
Fun story though, thanks for sharing it.
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Thank you Dilly
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