Dental Saga

Part 2

The first part of this saga appeared on 31st March 2008 and was called 'Open Wide'. It's not crucial to read the first part, in order to understand the second!

My second appointment, at the dental hospital, was scheduled for the end of last week. My husband kindly offered to accompany me, again, and, this time, we decided to travel by car. There was no doubt that this option offered several advantages over travelling by train.

1. We only needed to walk a few steps to the car and we didn't have to get out again, until we had almost reached our destination.
2. We didn't have to park, on rough ground, in the remotest corner of the station car park, as commuters travelling on the earlier 'peak travel' trains had bagged all of the best parking spots, and then hail a taxi to get to the ticket office.
3. We didn't have to sell our most precious possessions on Ebay, in order to raise the money for the journey.
4. We were absolutely guaranteed a seat for the whole of the journey, without the need to threaten any other passenger, with a Chinese burn, in order to persuade them to give up the unoccupied portion of their double seat.
5. We didn't have the extra inconvenience of a 10 minute walk to the tube station, and then 2 separate journeys on the underground, before being within walking distance of the hospital.

The traffic was fairly easy on the motorway and, we'd been travelling for some time, before I realised that my tom cat had managed to pee on the sleeve of my jumper! I'd left it hanging on my wardrobe door, to remind me that I'd already worn it, for an hour or 2, on a previous occasion and, unfortunately, it would have been within easy 'spraying' distance, once he had sneaked into the bedroom. Everyone has instructions to ensure that our bedroom door is kept closed, due to tom cat's unsavoury little habit. Someone must have accidentally left it open. I had even put a notice on the door to remind everyone to keep it closed, but it didn't always have the required effect.

It wasn't the first time that tom cat had managed to slip, unnoticed, into our bedroom. One day, I was standing at the till, in Waitrose, when I realised that he had peed on the sleeve of my coat, and, on another occasion, I was shopping in my local craft shop, when I realised that he had, once again, 'done the dirty deed' on a long scarf, which was wrapped around my neck. I would like to point out, to all cat lovers, at this point, that tom cat was neutered, as a young cat, and we have tried out the Feliway plug-in facial pheromones. We've also consulted the vet', on more than one occasion, but to no avail. I simply have to be vigilant and spend more time cleaning than I would choose.

I flew into a panic, when I realised that my jumper smelled of tom cat pee. I had a mental picture of patients and staff, surveying me with suspicion, and wrinkling their noses, as I walked into the waiting room. We stopped at the next garage and bought some baby wipes. I used up half a packet, wiping my sleeve, inside and out, in an attempt to eliminate the smell. Unfortunately, the cloying fragrance of baby wipes simply mixed with the smell of tom cat pee and conjured up a totally different, but equally displeasing odour. I was very relieved when we arrived in the city, with plenty of time to spare and when we came across a small M&S, where I was able to buy a new jumper. It was wonderful to take off the smelly jumper and don the clean one. At least there would be no danger of the receptionist enquiring 'Can anyone smell babies' bottoms and tom cat pee?', as I walked into the waiting room.

My appointment, on this occasion, was half an hour later than last time and, once again, I was there until the end of the morning clinic. I didn't have to wait very long, this time, but spent most of the time in the dentist's chair. The hospital building is Victorian and it is a teaching hospital, so the 'surgery' is very large, with about 20 screened treatment areas. I was shown to a chair facing an old sash window, which was partially open. The window pane was frosted, but I could see a few shrubs growing immediately outside the window and I knew, from looking out of other windows in the hospital corridors, that there was a courtyard, beyond.

I spent the first half an hour going up and down in the dentist's chair, with various members of staff attempting to cajole it into a reclining position. The appropriate buttons were pressed repeatedly, but the chair simply moved in an upwards direction, and I felt, at one point, that if my chair had risen any higher, I could have relieved my boredom by counting the amalgam fillings in the wide-open mouth of the patient in the next cubicle. A little while later, I contemplated the partially open sash window, a short distance in front of me, and wondered whether I should suggest that it was opened wider, in case I was suddenly catapulted towards it, with little or no warning, at breakneck speed. I felt fairly certain that the shrubbery would provide a much softer cushion, than the frosted pane of glass in the Victorian sash window.

Eventually, someone begged the assistance of a passing student dental nurse and I heard a rather gruff male voice asking 'Is the patient still in the chair?'. Not for much longer, I thought to myself, as I glimpsed the male student nurse approaching. From his appearance, I gained the impression that he was probably moonlighting, as a bouncer, for the local Spearmint Rhino Gentleman's Club, in his spare time. I hurriedly asked whether I should vacate the chair and recklessly leapt the 3 feet to the floor, with remarkable agility for a woman of my age, before anyone had the opportunity to reply that it wouldn't be necessary. The male nurse moonlighter deftly moved the ceramic cuspidor, attached to the chair, over to one side and the temperamental dental chair graciously consented to recline. I knew that final exams were a matter of weeks away for these students. If any part of the paper covered The Mechanics of the Reclining Dental Chair, then the male nurse was obviously destined to shine.

Over the next hour, I suffered yet another dental assessment, which seemed very similar to the previous one, but rather more prolonged. I made my way through the maze of corridors, back to the reception area, taking only one wrong turn, in the process and found that my husband had become an acknowledged expert in the field of current affairs, in my absence, having read his newspaper 5 times over, from front cover to back cover.

I wasn't feeling as shaken as after my first visit to the dental hospital, so we were able to enjoy a museum visit, followed by a short tour of St Pancras station, before returning to the sanctuary of our country town. I love our occasional visits to the big city, although I prefer those without an incorporated hospital visit, but the best part, for me, is always coming home, safe in the knowledge that I don't have to live there. I'm already so excited about my next visit to the dental hospital that I can hardly contain myself - not.

Open Wide!

When a new dentist took over at my former NHS dental practice, last year, and I was persuaded to switch to Denplan, I noticed a big improvement in my dental treatment. My new dentist explained that I had a problem with one of my teeth, however, and that she wanted to refer me to a dental hospital. I was outraged to discover that the problem had been detailed in my notes, but I had never been informed and no treatment had ever been suggested. Apparently, I was now in danger of losing the tooth.

I needed to travel into the city to go to the dental hospital, so my husband kindly decided to take the day off and accompany me, for moral support. Appointments were few and far between, meaning that I would need to get up at 6am, on the day of the appointment and we would both be forced to travel during the 'peak' period. We each sold a kidney, on a dodgy website, to pay for the return train fare and, on Thursday of last week, we found ourselves boarding a fairly crowded train, heading for the city.

It appeared, from a distance of a few feet away, that there were 3 single seats available, in the compartment we had chosen. On closer examination, however, it seemed possible that one male commuter might have paid for a double seat, in order to avoid having his own coffee cup, on a pull-down tray, in front of him. It appeared that one lady passenger might have paid for a second seat, out of concern for her coat's comfort. Another male passenger appeared to have splashed out on a double seat, for his empty packet of Hula Hoops, but, on reflection, we didn't feel that any of those scenarios were likely.

I challenged Coffeecupman, who admitted that the seat next to him was available, even though he had attempted to make it appear otherwise. He moved his coffee cup after I flicked him lightly, on both facial cheeks, with my leather gloves. My husband tackled Coatwoman, who obviously felt that my husband should stand, rather than disturb her precious companion. He capitulated and, fortunately, Hulahoopman remembered his manners in the nick of time. He coerced his empty Hula Hoop packet into, reluctantly, surrendering its seat and it stood, somewhat gracelessly, in the aisle, for the remainder of the long journey into the city. Coatwoman smiled at this result and patted her coat indulgently, as it lay, smugly, on the seat beside her.

We crossed the city, after getting off the train, arriving at the hospital in plenty of time for my appointment. We wandered about for a while, in the hospital, before discovering the lift and travelling up to the floor specified in my letter. I approached one of the receptionists, and handed her my letter, explaining that I was a new patient. She returned my polite smile with all the charm of Medusa, spent a couple of minutes entering my details on the computer and then drew a little diagram to show me where I had to go next. Undaunted, I smiled again and thanked her. I imagined the comment she was adding to my patient notes, as I walked away.(Note 1)

We headed back towards the entrance hall, down 5 miles of endless corridors, past someone up a ladder, painting the walls, through some double doors and into another reception area. There were no other patients waiting. Several members of staff stood by, and behind, the reception desk, but only the receptionist knew how to use the computer, apparently, and she became rather tense, as she coped with patients, coming in and out, and the telephones. I slowly came to realise that there was more than one 'Prof' on duty and, the one I was supposed to see, was running late.

When I was eventually led into the consulting room, I gasped at the size of it. There were at least 20 treatment areas, with different staff assigned to each. There were partitions, but they didn't reach the ceiling, so the atmosphere was bustling and noisy. A charming, female, student dentist examined me, in the presence of a dental nurse. She kept smiling, sweeping her palm under my chin and reminding me to relax! I was reminded of numerous, internal examinations, when the focus was on a totally different part of my body. I pictured the doctor at the end of the bed, as he pulled on his latex gloves and gazed determinedly towards his intended destination, demanding that I should relax, in a similar tone to the student dentist. I wanted to shout 'RELAX? ARE YOU JOKING?', but instead, I cried, 'Violation! Remove your probing fingers from my inner recesses!' Fortunately, I didn't say anything out loud.

'Clench your teeth, firmly and move the bottom ones to the left' said the student dentist. I tried, but nothing happened. She repeated the instruction and I tried again, with the same result. She had her fingers clamped firmly in, and around, my mouth. 'Grind your teeth' she said persistently, glancing meaningfully at the nurse, who repeated the instruction. Finally, I managed to move my lower teeth a little to the left. I imagined a further comment being added to my patient notes. (Note 2)

Prof eventually arrived and carried out his own examination. He gazed at me intently and explained that they were going to try and save my tooth, but that they might not succeed. My weakest eye chose that moment to sting and water, due to the bright light shining straight into my face, and a 'tear' ran down my cheek. 'Mrs Mean Mom' said Prof, gently. 'Do you understand? You may still lose the tooth.'

'Yes, yes. I understand' I said quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed my watery eye. He swept out of the cubicle. 'Pass the patient a tissue!' he called over his shoulder to the dental nurse. I imagined another comment being added to my notes.(Note 3)

The nurse accompanied me to x-ray and we picked up my husband on the way. We walked through the double doors, past the painter, along 5 miles of endless corridors, back to the entrance hall, and down a flight of stairs into the gloomy basement. The technician took my x-rays, but we waited 20 minutes for the results. He said that there had been a processing problem. We made our way back, up the flight of stairs, through the entrance hall, down the 5 miles of endless corridors, past the painter, through the double doors and back to clinic reception. It was empty, except for a few members of staff. One of the dental nurses took my x-rays and accompanied me to the consulting room. 'You've been a long time' she remarked. 'There was a processing problem' I explained.

I was the only patient in the consulting room. Some of the staff were already eating their sandwiches and breaking open bottles of mineral water. 'Yay! All the patients have gone!' cried one young dental nurse, her voice tailing off, as she noticed me. I watched as some of the staff wiped down the dental apparatus and I imagined another comment being added to my patient notes.(Note 4)

The student dentist informed me that I would have to return to the hospital on 4 or 5 occasions, for treatment. I gaped in horror. 'Is the travelling a problem?' she asked. 'I don't have any more body parts to sell for my train fare' I explained and it takes hours to get here.' She pointed out that the treatment was free and that I could consider buying a railcard. I finally agreed, feeling that I had no alternative. I imagined yet another comment being added to my patient notes.(Note 5)

The dental nurse walked back with me to reception, where the receptionist was catching up with her work. 'Can we make an appointment?' she asked. 'No' replied the receptionist, not until I have finished this.' We stood rooted to the spot, for a moment, shocked by her abrupt manner. She relented to a certain extent and passed over a folder to the nurse, so that she could enter the appointment herself. I provided my hospital number from my own documents and the receptionist suddenly appeared to see the funny side of things and relaxed. She began laughing and joking, exclaiming that I wouldn't be looking forward to returning to their clinic.

I'd been up since 6am, suffered a long and difficult journey to the hospital, been pushed from pillar to post, my body had been violated, it was well past my lunch time and I'd been waiting in the hospital for hours. I tried to smile, as we headed for the door, but somehow I remained stony faced. I imagined the final comment being added to my patient notes.(Note 6)

We walked in the direction of the hospital entrance hall, through the double doors, walking 5 miles down the wrong corridor, before realising that we had missed the correct corridor, as the painter had gone to lunch. We eventually found our way out of the hospital and headed for the nearest cafe, which was situated just over the road, and named after a vegetable. I was surprised to see that they were selling danish pastries and we decided to treat ourselves to the same, after we had both eaten a sandwich. I had my toothbrush and toothpaste in my handbag, so I didn't feel too guilty.

I bit into the danish pastry, glancing over towards the hospital entrance. I half expected the dental police to come bursting out of the hospital doors and bound down the hospital steps, armed with drills, floss, interdental brushes and bottles of mouthwash, but the building remained surprisingly quiet. We each drank a welcome mug of caffeine, as I shared with my husband, the comments I had imagined the hospital staff adding to my patient notes.

1. Smiles inanely, for no apparent reason. Obviously one tooth short of a full set.
2. Dim. Unable to follow simple instructions.
3. Over-emotional, possibly due to middle-age and menopause.
4. Loiters in x-ray and hospital corridors to ensure that staff suffer a diminished lunch break after morning clinic.
5. Ungracious and undeserving of free NHS dental treatment.
6. Suffers a sense of humour failure if she happens to be the first patient in the clinic and the last one out.

We decided that I should try to make a better impression on my next visit. Can't wait!