On dental disasters

Like many people I’ve never really been a fan of the dentist. In my case it stems back to (and I shit you not on this) a mad Australian with a desire to fill anything – including milk teeth – and a distrust of anaesthetics. Consequently my adult teeth came very late and only after the extraction of a sizeable number of teeth that were rigidly staying in place and damaging the teeth beneath. Things like that have a habit of scarring a child’s view of the Dentist.

So, I’ve got soft teeth. I do take care of them but unfortunately I have picked up a number of fillings over the years and a crown where I previously broke a tooth. I lost his crown last week which means it’s been a trip to the dentist. I took this as an opportunity to change dentist to someone more convenient for me by actually being in Manchester.

Anyway, the crown was a clean break and only slightly damaged an adjacent tooth which is easy to deal with. He recognised that I was bloody nervous but recognised that I didn’t need sedation and could deal with just local anaesthetic (hurrah). He also is the first Dentist I’ve ever had who’s been honest about what I refer to as my “Shark’s Tooth” (I have a slight double row on my upper left) and recommended that I have it extracted to avoid future problems and more bad dental experiences.

So a week on Monday I’m having the preliminary work done ahead of the crown fitting and extraction the week after.

All I have to do between now and then is keep reminding myself that “I’m a big brave bear” – it might actually work.

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