My Gums are Rubbish

9.30am I was at the periodontist. The day had finally come since January 31st, what with all the nonsense of this year. I’ve never feared the dentist, as such, so I was pretty okay, but there is a certain amount of anxiety none the less, when you know what is going to happen.

I was a few minutes early expecting to be kept waiting, professional services being want they are, but I was ushered right in right on the dot of 9.30am.

“Lie back in the chair and he will be in in just a moment.”

Funny, whenever I am at the periodontist I think of that scene out of Little Shop of Horrors, sans the nitrous oxide, of course.

They’d repainted since last time I was in. Another layer of cream, of course.

I’d only had one of the two teeth he’d advised to be removed taken out, but he didn’t seem to worry about that. He is a man of few words, though.

He said I'd need anaesthetic for my top teeth, and while he was waiting for that to take effect, he started to prod my lower gums, at which point I wondered why I couldn't have had anaesthetic upper and lower?

He got his pointy poking instrument and started pushing it down between my teeth, like he was pushing pins into my gums.

The nerves in my teeth started to buzz, you know tinfoil on your teeth, but I've always been able to relax and take myself off to another place in the dentist’s chair.

Boy, did he work my teeth over. Oo, ah, like he was putting all of his strength into scraping down my teeth, and while my mouth was anesthetised, I could still feel the amount of pressure he was applying. Scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape.

And then it was over.

He seemed pleased enough.

See you in six months, he said.

I’ve never had a decayed tooth, but my gums are rubbish. Is that dental irony? Not sure. But it sure is annoying.