Torture chair

Last Monday morning found me miserable. I had to decide — writhe in pain or go the Tom Sawyer way and allow the doc to pull out my tooth. Probably no one likes the idea of sitting on a dentist’s chair. This fear is so strong most of the time that it could be defined surely as a phobia. I have never experienced more irrational fear than that connected to visiting a dentist. Ogden Nash once rightly said, “Some tortures are physical, some are mental, but the one that is both is dental.”

After two-three visits to him, I realised that I do not fear my dentist (a handsome man) as a person. I quiver when I think of sitting in that horrendous chair and seeing the torture tools — squeezers, dentures, forceps, spray guns, syringes, pluckers, cotton swabs and other equipment. I shudder to think that someone would drill my teeth. The idea of someone doing something with my teeth scares the devil out of me.

“The filling for the upper right tooth has come off,” Mr Dentist had told me on my last visit. I know sooner or later I need to get rid of this tooth. “If you continue with this new filling, it will fall off again. Better extract now,” said Mr Dentist.

My worst nightmare became a reality. I looked around and found walls covered with colourful charts that described various kinds of teeth — incisors used for biting the food, canines are strong corner teeth, pre-molars used for chewing, molars for final grinding and lastly wisdom teeth are the last to erupt in the mouth. This proves that more knowledge can sometimes become a dangerous thing.

The “chair of death” looks like a comfortable lounge chair, though there is no comfort once someone sits in it. A glass of water is always kept within reach in case your mouth runs dry out of reverence. Then there is a small washbasin in which you can spit, in all likelihood your blood, a machine with cables dangling, a mirror to see how ashen your face looks, while your teeth are being drilled, and you need a handkerchief to wipe your inevitable tears.

He injected anaesthetic and slit my gum open with a scalpel. He then got ready to take out my tooth, drilling and twisting it with some kind of lever. He stitched up the gum and it was over in about 20 minutes. My jaw got swelled and my gum leaked blood for about four days. I would call this as nuisance at its best.

Yesterday while having my favourite chocolate I recalled two things — one, the advice of my doc to brush at least twice a day regularly and two, a saying: “You don’t have to brush your teeth, just the ones you want to keep.”

(http://www.tribuneindia.com/2011/20110316/edit.htm#5) Published in the 'Middle' section of The Tribune, Chandigarh