Au revoir, tooth

I know what you've all been thinking for the past few days.... How did it go, Laura, having your tooth out? Are you ok?

I know you've all been worried sick and I apologise for not letting you know sooner.

So, it went fine. I went there at 20 past 3 but wasn't seen until 3.45 but I wasn't really complaining. There was some super old cowboy film on in the waiting room that I was really getting in to. The damsel in distress was just being kidnapped by the baddie and ridden off into the distance when the dentist came and called me.

He was a nice dentist. It's easy to have an inherent mistrust in dentists, given that they're getting paid for each thing they do, so are inclined to advise you that you need loads of work doing. I went to a dentist last year who recoiled in mock fright after looking at my teeth, said I needed everything fixing and they were the worst teeth he'd ever seen. I then went to the hygenist a few days later, who said there was nothing wrong with them, she'd just give them a quick clean.

This dentist was nice. He said almost the same thing. I asked if I should book an appointment with the hygenist and he said I could if I wanted but it wasn't urgent.

So already I feel ok. I'm in safe hands. As I entered the room, he was like "Ok, we're going to take it out aren't we? How are you feeling? Do you get nervous about needles or anything?"

I don't, which I told him. But I also acted uber casual about the whole thing. "Yeah, I'm fine." A bit more casual than I was really feeling.

He took his huge needle and put the anasthetic into my gum. It didn't hurt as such, but it was quite uncomfortable. Shortly afterward, a time during which he told me he was going to see Derren Brown that evening, I did my best impression of a stroke victim and started dribbling. In a nice polite way, the dentist informed me of the dribbling, said the anaesthetic must be working and got started.

All manner of torture implements went in there - forceps, pointy things, clampy things, spannery things. He tugged and he pulled, he twisted and he turned. All the while I lay dribbling and trying avoid the awkward eye contact thing by looking at the light on the ceiling.

It went on. And on. And on. He tugged. I dribbled. He pulled. I dribbled. He tapped. I dribbled.

And eventually, probably only about five minutes later, he gave an almighty tug that made me worry my jaw might break and pulled it out.

"Do you want to take it with you? I can clean it up for you."

My immediate reaction was no. What would I want with a back tooth? It'd only sit around gathering dust till I threw it away anyway. So I said no thanks. After I left though, I chatted (slurred) to a few friends who all said, "Let's see it. Have you got it with you?" Is that the usual thing, taking it with you? Have I missed out on a fantastic opportunity to show my tooth off?

Anyway, it's been ok since then. It aches a bit but not very much. I realised, with shock, how big the tooth was when I looked at the hole it had left. I was kind of under the impression that there were more teeth at the back there, so the very last one going wouldn't be a problem. But actually, there are only two big massive teeth there. And I've had one taken out. That's half of all my back teeth on one side. There's quite a big hole there. Have I done the right thing, getting it taken out? Or was I far too hasty to be parted with it?....