Dental Adventure

It seems to run in the family: teeth problems. My mother had a mouth of dentures; my dad’s is three quarter filled with them too. And I keep going for major dental treatments.

I mean, at my age, I hardly hear of friends or colleagues going for extractions, crowns and bridges. Some don’t even know what the latter are. Yet, I’ve done them all, more than once.

Just as well my brother married a dentist. It sure helps save us a bundle!

And so two days ago I had to have my crown removed and tooth extracted. The operation seemed routine enough, for a dentist at least. Still, it entailed hours of bleeding, pain and discomfort.

I am not sure if it was sheer forgetfulness (of my previous tooth extraction agony), or bravado, I had actually intended to go jogging after the extraction. ‘’What, running after that! No! In fact, you will be given an MC,’’ said my sister in law, the dentist in the family.

She prepped her assistant for the job. The latter is actually scarier than the actual extraction. In trying to get out the right equipment for my dentist, she managed to bamboozle both herself and her boss, not to mention bewilder poor me, already shivering in the chair. (Wait till you hear about the perplexing call I had with her just to make an appointment – that’s fodder for another story)

My stubborn tooth extracted all the might of my petite sister in law. She pulled, yanked, poked, heaved, hauled, dragged, tugged, pushed and wrenched. She switched equipment. I cringed, gritted my other teeth, gripped my hands and curled my toes. I saw drops of perspiration on her brow. She paused to rest, nursing her aching back and hand, and attempted to reassure me, ‘’it’s coming out soon.’’

If this was only getting a molar out, can you imagine getting a baby out? I have renewed respect for mothers at the delivery bed.