The King’s Dentist lives down the road from
us. His other title, so my early morning walking friends tell me, is the Royal
Flosser. His job is to accompany the King on all his trips so that he’s on hand
should there be a sudden royal dental crisis. On one hand, it sounds exotic, but
I’m guessing it’s also pretty boring. A pack-a-good-book sort of job.
And talking of crises and dentists, I’ve my
own story to tell, but there’s no royal dentist in my
narrative. Actually, it’s really a story in three parts, or if you like three
separate dental crises spread over several years.
Crisis One
To sort my first crisis out, I visited a
dentist recommended by a medical clinic near where I worked. I’ll call him Mr
Grumpy Scottish Dentist. I had misgivings from the moment I walked into his
clinic. Firstly, the place was undeniably grubby. There was a thin sheen of
dust over every surface. I could have written my name along the window sill. Minutes later, when I was prostrate in the chair, his nurse dropped an instrument on
the floor, then picked it up and handed it across to him. (He was left-handed
and this seemed to complicate matters enormously.) At this point, Mr Grumpy
Scottish Dentist tore strips off her. It was unpleasant and unprofessional. I
left soon afterwards with absolutely no intention of returning.
Crisis Two
Enter Mr Noble Smile Dentist. He came
highly recommended by a friend. “Ah, ” I thought as I walked through the door.
“ Clean and pristine.” State of the art
equipment, all gleaming and glistening in its bold white newness: I was
impressed. So was my husband who’d come with me. After looking at the problem
tooth, Mr Noble Smile explained what he thought the problem was and his proposed
treatment. To my husband. I asked some questions which he answered. Also to my
husband. As we left, he opened the door. For my husband, of course. And so we
left. My husband, and me, wearing my abaya of anonymity, fully intending to
never darken his doorstep again.
Crisis Three
This time around, I knew the treatment
would be relatively straightforward. One filling out. One crown in. Looking for
a place to go this time that was neither grubby nor noble, I decided to use
Google. Read some reviews, I thought. See what Mr. Joe Public is saying. The
first forum I looked at had an anguished plea from a young expatriate male.
He’d visited an Egyptian dentist and had had his jaw broken in the process of
having a wisdom tooth out. Like me, he was looking for a reputable and
professional dentist. The words needle and haystack came to mind. Discouraged
but not defeated, I eventually chose an American dentist. My friends on the
compound assured me that I'd made a sound choice and he came through my Google
review search with flying colours.
Last Saturday I had my first appointment. I
was immediately reassured by his pleasant conviviality and brisk efficiency.
“Yes,” he said. “A crown,” and then after a brief explanation of the process, he
showed me a printed breakdown of the costings for approval. After some initial
work and an anesthetic he disappeared. Just like that. There one minute and
gone the next. Meet Mr Invisible Dentist.
I spent the next hour and half with his
assistant. She poked and prodded, took impressions and fitted a temporary
crown. She called me ‘Mam’ which is a Philippine form of address. I couldn’t
call her anything since I didn't know her name. I left, not seeing Mr Invisible
Dentist again, but being promised that next Saturday he would fit my crown.
Promises.
Today is Saturday and I’ve just been to get
my new crown. Or not, as it transpired. After the dental assistant had removed
my temporary crown, Mr Invisible Dentist appeared. He attempted to place the new
crown but sadly it just didn't fit. Something must have been wrong with the
impressions that had been taken last week, Mr Invisible Dentist told me. I'd
have to have new impressions taken, the temporary crown refitted and then
return again for the final crown next week. With these words Mr Invisible
Dentist once again vanished, leaving me with Mary. (I asked her name this
week, since it appears we are going to have a longer than anticipated
acquaintance.)
I’m going back on Tuesday for my permanent
crown. It's all beginning to feel like one of those awful circular stories that
just go on and on and on…. I’ve my fingers crossed for a successful outcome,
but I’ve also decided one thing. Next time I have a dental crisis I’m climbing
on a plane and flying straight to London.
Oh I laughed. So typical.
ReplyDeleteI usually fly home just to get my hair cut properly :)
Glad you laughed. And I'm with you on the hair cut score too...
ReplyDeleteI have this exact same crisis with a crown..still looking. My next destination was going to be that very same Noble smile clinic but after reading this am not sure anymore :/ I hate when the doctors here do that! Even some of the gynecologist speaks to my husband at the maternity check ups. Seriously! And it's not a language problem, or a gender issue since the are all females.
ReplyDeleteAnd I don't know how to sign in with my own profile to comment, sorry about that, it's me Layla :D
ReplyDeleteHi Layla,
DeleteOh dear, I'm sorry if I've confused your decision making.... however it wasn't just the manner of Mr NS that put me off. I wasn't convinced about the treatment he proposed, but I didn't want to go into that much detail in my post.
Good luck... and if you find someone wonderful please let me know :)