It was at Bidroha's wedding, I just couldn't take the pain any more. I had had enough. So, I went to the dentist.
I don't like dentists very much. It's nothing personal, but having spent long sat in dentist chairs, being put in large amounts of pain, being told off and then being charged extortionate amounts it has slightly soured my feelings towards them. And having naturally awful teeth doesn't help as well.
So, the thought of having to go to the dentist - and one who's first language wasn't English - terrified me.
I had been contemplating the visit for a long time. My teeth are always a little sore, but here they seemed to get a little worse. Since June last year I've had in the back of my mind to go and see the dentist. But I didn't because I was just too scared.
I went to Patan Hospital, where I was told the dentists are quite good. So I arrived for at 8 am. I walked in to find a huge queue of people and my heart sank. Fortunately, I found out that that was the queue for other medical things, only after 20 minutes of queuing though...
The queue for the dentists was already quite long - 7 or 8 people in front of me - although compared to the general medical admissions this was nothing. On the walls around me were posters telling of ways to keep your teeth clean and the benefits. Somethings never change. I went to the reception and was told I needed to get a ticket. When I asked where I could get a ticket from, the receptionist told me she could give me one. A bit of a pointless conversation? Maybe, but this is Nepal, and bureaucracy runs deep.
So, I got a ticket, and paid my consultation fee and sat in the queue. It seemed as if none of the dentists had come in yet, as there were just cleaners going around, and people sitting about waiting. After some time, the dentists turned up and the first person was called. I spent my time reading the posters around the walls. One had a women with a lump on her tongue saying "This is cancer, make sure you see your dentist if you find a lump". Comforting. Other posters extolled mothers feeding breast milk to their children, and another declaring "Healthy teeth, Healthy life".
I looked around the room to see who else was here to see the dentist. There was a women who had a white bandage covering the whole of her cheek. Maybe she had a cancerous lump removed from her tongue. A child was sitting sedately in his father's lap, one side of his mouth swollen as if someone had given him a golf ball to suck on. There was an old lady, who was looking as scared as I felt, and a young lady who held her hand to comfort her. Running around was a child, who would go to the curtained door of each room and look in, before moving on to the next. I hoped she wouldn't do that when I was sitting in the chair.
Then, completely out of sequence I was called. I felt a bit ashamed - why should I be given any preferential treatment - but I didn't complain. I wanted to be out of there as quick as possible. I was sat down in the dentist chair, and they asked me what was wrong. I explained. I did my best in Nepali, but when my Nepali failed - as quite often it does still - they started to speak in English.
They gave me an x-ray and then called me back to say that one of my fillings was close to the nerve, so it was probably just a bit sensitive. But, just to be sure, they would give me a scale and polish and make sure nothing else was causing pain.
A few days later I was back for my teeth cleaning. Now, in the UK I can imagine that the dentist will give you a plastic coat and some see through glasses while they are scaling teeth. However, in Nepal they gave me two face cloths - one placed on my chest and one over my eyes. So, there I was in darkness and all I could hear was the revving up of what I assumed was the drill. Why were they going to be using a drill?
Open your mouth, the lady said. Now, I don't know whether anyone else has this problem when they go to the dentist, but it always causes me a large amount of embarrassment. Where do you put your tongue? I try and make sure it keeps out of the way, but inevitably it gets in the path of the dentist's drill/poky stick/mirror and then I give out a yelp. Not only this, but my mouth slowly closes over time, as I forget where I am and revert to the daydream where I am sitting by the beach making sandcastles and watching the world go by. Then with a quick reprimand I am brought back to reality with a request to keep my mouth open if I want them to do their job properly.
As the sound of the drill increased in my ear, suggesting the impending meeting between it and my teeth, I started to fear the worst. All I thought I was here for was a clean, not a filling. And then impact. I flinched out of instinct more than anything else. But nothing happened. The drill wasn't a drill. It was just a grinding wheel - or a dentist equivalent of it. The hygienist passed the grinding wheel up and down my teeth, little bits of my teeth flying everywhere. After spending time going across all my teeth, getting caught up in my tongue and telling me to open my mouth, she then got another tool, some sort of toothbrush, and started to clean my teeth. The months of turmeric that had been staining my teeth slowly disappeared into a froth of what I can only assume was bicarbonate of soda and salt.
And with that it was over.
A week later, I was back in the dentist chair - after several compliments of how white my teeth looked. I didn't know whether that meant they were very yellow beforehand, or just everyone wanted to make me think that I hadn't wasted my money. The dentist looked at my teeth and told me I had hyper-plastic teeth and they were just sensitive. So, just get on with it. A very Nepali response.
However, I still have a feeling I'll need a little 'work' done on my teeth - and to be honest, I'd prefer to do it here than in the UK where it'll be 10 times more. So the dentist story has only just begun...
SAM
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