Treatment

I’ve been in the wars a bit lately. First, a couple of weeks ago, a bit of one of my teeth came out while I was eating a chip. I hate going to the dentist and went for the first time in about six years in April under extreme pressure from various concerned friends and relations. I thought I’d got away with it with a bit of a polish and a couple of minor repairs. It’d only cost me about fifty quid. Fifty quid in five years for dental treatment – not bad, eh?

Then a bit of a tooth came out, so it was back to the dentist. First they sealed it, which cost thirty quid, but that was only a temporary fix. I was advised to get a crown, so I went back last week to have the seal removed and the tooth “prepared” for the crown. I’d never realised that “preparing” a tooth for a crown actually means hacking away at it with some kind of handheld electric scythe until it’s nice and rounded. They fitted me up with a temporary one last week and tonight I go to get the permanent one fitted. This is costing me just under 300 quid.

Still, 350 quid in five years for dental treatment – still not bad, eh?

There may be “complications”, though. Apparently, when my tooth came out, I was “very lucky” that it wasn’t painful, because if it was I’d need a “root canal”. Just as I had no idea what having a crown involved, I have no idea what having a “root canal” involves. I tend to have a put-my-fingers-in-my-ears-and-sing-la-la-la-la-la when it comes to tooth problems. I’d rather not know what a “root canal” is until after it’s happened.

So, I was “very lucky” that my tooth wasn’t sensitive when it fell out. Now that my dentist has hacked most of the rest of the tooth off, though, surprise surprise it’s now hurting. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s only because my temporary crown isn’t quite the right fit and it’ll all be fine tonight after the permanent one’s put in.

I’m wondering whether to even tell the dentist it’s painful. Surely I can withstand a bit of pain in my mouth for the rest of my life?

Still, even if I do have to shell out the equivalent of 650 quid for a “root canal”, 1000 quid in five years for dental treatment – still not too bad, eh?

I’ve also had pharyngitis, which is a posh way of saying “sore throat”. It’s been accompanied by general cold symptoms, headaches and stuff and something which the linked website above calls “post-nasal drip”.

I’m rarely ill and hardly ever go to the doctor. It’s always a bizarre experience because they ask me questions which I’m not sure how to answer. For example, when they ask me if I have any allergies, I never know whether to say that I get hay fever. My guess is that they’re more interested in knowing about whether I’m allergic to things like penicillin. I always tell them about my hay fever but they never write it down.

This time, my doctor asked me whether I was married, then asked me whether I had a girlfriend, then asked me where my girlfriend was (did she mean, “Is she in Singapore?” or did she mean, “Has she stayed at home while you’ve come to the doctor on your own, you poor thing?”), then asked me what my girlfriend does for a living. All the time I’m wondering whether she’s trying to get to know me or whether this information is crucial to my swift recovery from pharyngitis. As a result, my answers are half getting-to-know-you and half functional.

Next time I’m tempted to try a new strategy. When asked a question like, “Are you married?” I’ll give my answer in one word (very functional). Then I’ll loosen my tie, stand up, lean with one arm against the wall, point at her with the other using my hand as if I’m cocking a pistol, wink and ask, “And how about you sugarlumps?” (very-getting-to-know-you).

Anyway, I’m now finally recovering six days after the symptoms started. I reckon I caught it at the dentist.

Actually, I’ve had a bit of a problem with my appointment with the dentist tonight. It was initially supposed to be tomorrow, but I got a phone call yesterday telling me that it had to be moved from 4pm to 3.30pm. I was already leaving work early, so I told them I couldn’t come any earlier, so I’d be there at 4pm as we’d arranged last week, and anyway, while we’re at it, why has my appointment just been changed without asking me first? The receptionist said she’d call me back.

It’s hard sometimes being an ex-pat because I’m not sure whether I’m “being an ex-pat” about things, you know, all bolshy and everything-should-stop-for-me, or whether I’m actually well within my rights. Anyway, when the receptionist phoned me back she asked if we could compromise, which meant me going in at 3.45pm. I explained (again) that I was already leaving work early (I’m supposed to be supervising something after school) and asked again why my appointment had been moved. She told me that someone from Indonesia was coming over to have some lengthy treatment and they were only here for one day. I almost said, “Ah, so this other person’s treatment is much more expensive than mine,” but didn’t. I stuck to my guns, though, and said I couldn’t make it any earlier (because I can’t, not because I won’t, honest). So she offered me 5.30pm today if my crown has arrived from the laboratory.

I will, of course, apologise profusely to the dentist before he gets anywhere near my mouth, then I’ll have a right go after he’s finished.

Anyway, what do you think? Was I “being an ex-pat” or was I just grouchy cos I was ill? Would you have stood your ground or compromised (even though I couldn’t, because I have this thing after school)?

This brings me on to my final point. Living here is great. But living here is also different. These difference emerge gradually. I’m used to the customer always being right. Here, though, the customer is generally wrong and has few rights. Also, things like menus aren’t very flexible. One of my friends was drinking sea breezes the other night – you know, vodka, grapefruit juice and cranberry juice. She didn’t want to drink any more alcohol, but fancied a grapefruit juice, so she asked for one. The waitress said they didn’t sell grapefruit juice. My friend asked how they mixed the sea breeze if they didn’t have grapefruit juice. The waitress replied that, yes, they had grapefruit juice, but they didn’t sell grapefruit juice.

My friend thought for a minute, then asked, “Can I have a sea breeze with no vodka and no cranberry juice, please?”
“Certainly madam,” came the reply.