Dental Health

I had a particularly ominous start to the week this morning, when I walked into the dentist for my 9am appointment to be told (far too enthusiastically, I thought) that I needed four fillings. This didn't surprise me; I've known for some time that I've had Plaque Excavation Parties going on in my mouth. What did surprise me, however, was the dentist's cheerful "Well then, let's get started - 4 fillings will take some time!"

Uh, sorry, what did you say? All four fillings - right now? I'm used to dentistry SA-style: you have to book your appointment about 2 years in advance, pay an extortionate R500 just to walk through the door and check in with the oh-so-snooty receptionist and then suffer through Dentist Dread over the next month or so while you go back for more torture every 2 weeks until finally, your teeth have been fixed, one cavity at a time. Saffa dentists wouldn't even double up, let alone do four in one go.

So it was with some trepidation that I sat in the chair, given that I've never previously had more than two injections, and they were both on the same side of my mouth (this time the Plaques were most thoughtful; they spread their celebrations far and wide so that the only corner left untouched was the bottom left). My dentist is a petite, very pretty lady, who, when armed with her drill, reminds me a little of one of those DIY whores from Benny Benassi's Satisfaction video. Very disturbing - perhaps nice for the guys, but for me it was just weird. Three injections later and I was drooling merrily out 3 corners of my mouth like a stroke patient. In fact, there was so much rampant saliva that I kept getting startled by random cold trickles that escaped and ran down the side of my neck - causing me to jump; which in turn caused me to go dry-mouthed at the thought of what one too many jumps could cause this woman to do with her drill. So for the last 10 minutes, her assistant barely had to use her suction hose - my terror did a good enough job of keeping my spit at bay. 50 minutes after I'd first said aaaah, my dentist finished up and buzzed my chair upright. I sat up and reviewed my surroundings - and was mortified at the destruction left in my wake. The headrest of the chair was slick with drool; the front of my plastic bib was like a slippy slide; there was a wet patch on the back of my shirt and the rinse area, which I had visited several times during the torture, looked like whales had been splashing in the sink - a result, of course, of trying to rinse with only one functioning mouth corner. I swear, all dentists have hidden cameras above the sinks, and as they tenderly coax you to rinse when you can't feel your lips, they're thinking about how they're going to be doubled over hysterically when they invite their mates round to watch those videos later.

I then made my way, slack-jawed and droopy eyed (somehow your eyes follow your mouth's example when it's anaethetised) to the station to wait for Shoes, who I knew would be catching the train 10:20 train. I had his bank card which I needed to give him, and I thought I'd travel to work with him, a rare treat since his lazy ass starts at 11am every day. I stood waiting for him at the entrance, where I could watch him cross at the pedestrian crossing. He didn't know I would be there. He arrived at the crossing, looked up, caught site of me, did a double take and accelerated to full speed as he practically leapt cars to get to me. "Baby baby, what's wrong?!?!? Are you ok?" He was quite beside himself. I waved his forgotten bank card at him and said: "Youfogodyorankard." It took about 5 seconds, but the light dawned in his face as he realised where I had just been. Once he was assured I wasn't in mortal danger, he just cracked up. Apparently my facial expression as I waited for him was a grimace of such terrifying proportions that he thought something unspeakable must have happened to me. It didn't help that when I tried to explain I'd just had 4 fillings, I ended up spitting more than talking and it took several attempts to make him understand me.

The weekend was good - we all went through to Southampton on Sunday to visit Fish, Shoes' best friend, whose cruise ship was docking for the day. The poor thing has been at sea for over a year now, with another 6 months to go, and he is definitely feeling the call of the ocean's madness. He's been home once during that time for 2 months, and the rest he has spent working shifts as a wine steward for a fair amount of money at a high personal cost. You know when seeing a bunch of tired and rather grouchy (we had to get up at 6:30am on a Sunday to make the trip) misfits for 5 hours is the highlight of your year, you have a pretty shit life. Still, he'll be going home in December for good, with enough money to buy a car and put down a deposit on a house, which is more than Shoes and I can say, so props to him for sticking it out this long.

In other news, our mate G-Days has just accepted a job offer in Chippenham, which is right near Bath. He's an electronics engineer and there are very few jobs in his line of work in London, so he's been on the hunt over the last few weeks for a decent job in a vaguely decent area - ie, where he doesn't have to travel more than two hours to get into London to camp on our lounge floors at weekends. Turns out Chippenham is the epitome of English countryside, and only an hour and half away. We're now planning visits to Bath, which we have been told is a must-see, perhaps towards the end of summer (if summer ever arrives). It seems it is the era of news jobs for everyone... at least, it will hopefully be. More on that next time though - or maybe when I have something fabulous to report. For now, I am happy to bask in mediocrity, spending more time blogging and ordering toiletries from M&S than actually working, but hey, in the quest for fullness of life, one should always take care of B.O!