A few weeks ago an office mate ("Gunner," a retired Navy warrant officer whom our commander says never really left the Navy and who's been here since Belgium was founded) gave Rita the business card of his dentist. She passed it to me, and I left it sitting on my desk, periodically looking at it and thinking that I should call and make us appointments for checkups. But since it's the dentist and I'm a human being, I never did. (To my credit, I did have it displayed in a prominent place so that I'd see it often. If I'm going to be bad I at least wanted to feel guilty about it.)
Then today after lunch (spaghetti) I felt like I had something really big stuck in my teeth. After going through a bunch of dental floss (it kept severing), several toothpicks, and a lot of worrying at it, I finally dislodged...a piece of tooth. No choice but to call the dentist, who just happened to have an opening. He was close by, a nice guy, and very competent. Turns out I had a cavity under an old filling. He had to do a three-surface amalgam, meaning he essentially rebuilt the tooth with filling stuff.
This was probably the most French I've spoken at one time since I got here, mostly because we had a nice long chat while we waited for the local anesthesia to take effect. No, he didn't run off to another patient; I was the only patient. And he has no receptionists, hygienists, or business managers. What he did have was thoroughly modern equipment. It was a very pleasant experience, even if he's not as cute as my regular dentist.
It was really tough spaghetti.
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2 comments:
Oy. Sorry about the cavity, but at least you had a pleasant time at the dentist's.
David,
Who cooked the spaghetti? It must have included a rock. Sorry.
Pop
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