In Search Of Tooth

After a series of recurring migraines and sleepless nights, I finally surrendered to everyone’s idea -including my GP’s- to see a dentist.

Heck, the last time I saw a dentist was probably a week ago when I spotted a geeky-looking guy hanging about in the studio. Apologies to dentists everywhere for I almost always associate ‘geek’ with ‘dentist’ for reasons unknown. It’s just automatic. However, “seeing” a dentist is way different than actually sitting on that scary-looking chair and letting one actually stretches your mouth open.

I’ve been contemplating this idea for about two months -maybe more. Did some research on so-called ‘good dentists’ and apparently there are lots of them in the city. My criteria was:

1. A woman – common sense: they usually pay more attention to details
2. Cozy treatment room – or whatever they call it these days
3. Hygienic approach to dentistry – always believed doctors are clean, but some friends told me horror stories about how some dentists use the same tools from one patient to another. Bleugh.
4. Reasonable price

Now point 4 is automatically contradictive to point 3. But hey, can’t blame me for trying to be idealistic.

So I searched and searched while gathering up the courage to decide and finally go. I’ve gotten sick and tired of having to pick my tooth after every meal and brush my teeth obsessively with medicated toothpaste that tasted like shit.

“You should go to my dentist. She’s superb,” said my Mom over dinner.
“Heahhy? Ih he ehwenhiff?” I asked while politely covering my mouth as I picked my tooth.
“Reasonable. She’s a really stylish lady. What I like about her is that she’s very hygienic, thorough and her equipments are top notch”
“Heh ih his hetish?” – yes, still busy picking the tooth (and kinda amazed on how Mom got what I said)
“Oh not so far away. It’s about 20 minutes drive.”

That was it. My decision was final. I went there this afternoon and didn’t have to wait in line as I was first on location. Apparently the gentleman before me was just getting his teeth cleaned and he was finished when I arrived.

A middle-aged beautiful lady doctor greeted me with a warm smile. She smelled like Elizabeth Arden. Her hair was done in the manner of Raakhee Punjabi, only classier. She directly led me to the scary chair -which surprisingly wasn’t as scary as I’ve imagined because it was orange. Yes, people. Orange. She smiled, asked my name and seconds later, her smile disappeared behind a mask.

“So, what do we have here?”

I opened up my mouth and pointed to where it usually hurts the most.

“Well well. This is rather bad. Let’s see whether the caries had affected your nerve.”

She did something with the drill, and I screamed in shock.

“Did it hurt?”
“O”
“Why did you scream?”
“Ko”
“Yes it’s cold, it’s the air from this thing. It’s ok. Let me know if it hurts, ok?”

After a solid 45 minutes on the orange chair, I gradually felt relaxed I almost fell asleep. Michael Buble was singing, his voice was intoxicating. I vaguely heard the doctor saying something about root canal treatments for some tooth. I begun to feel like I was in a beauty salon. The only difference was: she had the coolest monitor that allowed me to see how scary my teeth are up close. And yes it didn’t hurt that much on that chair.

The real unbearable pain came when she showed me the bill.

Man, all I could think of is how stuffing two pairs of shoes from Zara in my mouth might cure the toothache as well.

Oh well. At least I’m cured for the time being. That lady made me promise to come back in two weeks to do a check up on my nerves. Moral of the story: never believe anybody telling you that good dentists are ‘reasonably priced’. They are ridiculously expensive, and I now believe that they should be. Because if they weren’t, the scary chair would just be scary instead of orange, Michael Buble won’t even dare to top another patient’s screams from another room -if any- and the doctor would smell like rotten eggs instead of Arden.