|Laurence Olivier, Marathon Man 1976|
Today we went to Bath for a routine dental appointment. I have been dreading the visit and for the last two days I was experiencing an awful sense of foreboding. For several weeks I have been getting a sharp pain in my upper molar when I chewed on anything so I had already convinced myself that this visit was going to ultimately result in further appointments for root canals, fillings, etc. I was filled with trepidation when we set off this morning. (I kept thinking about poor Jennifer at Sparrow Tree Journal and her dental stories.)
Prior to seeing Mr Smiley I had to have my teeth cleaned by Beth, the hygienist. I usually get a lecture about tea and red wine staining my teeth. Sorry but I'm not going to give up my cups of tea. Or my red wine. Although not painful this cleansing is akin to some medieval water torture. She was very thorough as she attacked my plaque with the high pressure water jet. Then she stopped. A pause. A nervous cough. “Oh dear, some of your tooth has just broken off. Never mind,” she added cheerfully, “you’re seeing the dentist next.”
Actually she had done me a favour. Mr Smiley agreed that the pain was probably caused by the cracked tooth. He has skilfully repaired it with some cement and glaze and now I’m as good as new. No injections, no fillings. I felt like I was floating on air as we left the surgery.
This is too good to be true. I haven’t tried eating on that side of my mouth yet, I’m too nervous in case it still hurts!