THE TOOTH FAIRY

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There is always a first time.

This recent first time was not at all appreciative for me. I was hurt, and it pained so much that my decision to consider that experience had jeopardized my future decision-making capabilities. But later, I did thank myself for taking it up.

The constant shrieking pain in my molar tooth on the extreme left of my mouth drove me to a dental doctor who had 27 years of experience in dentistry (written vividly in her signboard).  My appointment was scheduled at 11 A.M., but it was delayed by 10 minutes for a reason that made me firmly believe in her medical capabilities. She was chanting some mantras loudly and was audible from outside before she began her day at the clinic. I conceived that if she is starting her day with the blessings of God, then she is a lady of great affirmations and would perform her duties with full faith and dedication. My silly musings were interrupted, and I was called inside. The dusky lady in her 50s, after examining my mouth for 10 minutes, declared with disgust, ‘It needs to be extracted. The tooth has been infected badly.’  My brain got blurred at once with this thought of extraction and of losing my long-held pride of being among those having the complete set of 32 teeth, brushing twice a day, and taking care of them so much. I asked for an alternative, and was reciprocated with an unvarying passive answer.

I returned with a few medicines for a week, after which the uprooting day was fixed.

It was Saturday. A weekend certainly was an unhappy one. My mind was completely preoccupied with the various notions I had derived from several consultations with people who had prior experience of tooth extraction, not the molar ones, but only the premolars or the canines. I assumed the same for all. My fault. I reached the dental clinic around 1 P.M. She was sitting in her usual chair with no subordinate. I entered with apprehension and panic.  She directed me to the dental chair straight away without giving me a moment to share my last week’s dental ordeals. She was firm.

The moment I opened my mouth and she had inserted the small round mirror with the attached stick, I jerked and spoke, ‘Can we stop this? Is there any alternative? Would you think once?’ The lady spoke less. She rather chose to to call my sister, who was my self-volunteered attendant for the day, ‘Look at the mirror.’ My ignorant sister started looking for mirrors on the wall. I was amused, but with no other option left than to see her getting embarrassed. ‘I meant this small mirror inside her mouth.’ The doctor clarified. I was sure she had an unattentive look to avoid her dizziness, which she experienced every time she went into a doctor’s room. ‘This tooth is infected as it's partially broken, and if we do not extract it now, later, when this gets diminished due to disintegration with time, she will need to be operated on to take out the remains of it. Better we carry out the extraction now.’

She announced her verdict, my sister nodded stupidly without asking any questions. As soon as she finished speaking, she pushed two syringes, one after the other, inside my mouth to lose my sensations and carry out this miniature surgery. My painful journey had begun.

The root was strong. And she had to use all her efforts and pressure to take out one of my wisdom teeth. It seemed my sensibility had taken off with this ‘wisdom’ tooth. The moment I saw blood on her gloves, my mind was conquered with the tendency to faint without realizing there was supposed to be blood on them. I looked at my sister for some courage, but she was busy admiring the outer world through the window, to avoid this bloody concoction going on inside the room.

Done.

The tooth was pulled out and kept on a dental plate, later packed, sealed, and handed over to me. I was sent home with a lot of instructions and medicines.

I thought the ordeal was over.

I was wrong. It had begun.

There was bleeding inside my mouth for a few hours, and the strange engulfment of pain as the effect of anesthesia had receded. The next morning, my mouth was unevenly swollen on the left side. My loquacious articulations were scarce and temporarily shunned, punctuated with a screeching pain inside and out. The swelling and pain on my cheek were evident because it was pushed mercilessly to make way for her hands to reach the last tooth.

I took out the tooth from the sealed packet only to find a dark, patchy tooth, and I peacefully considered my tooth extraction ordeal as a wise choice. My little one rushed to check it and asked, ‘Oh! mumma. Aren’t you going to give it to the tooth fairy like I gave mine last year? You would get a gift.’ I remembered telling him this last year when he had lost his first milk tooth. He was reluctant, and I had to tell him the story of the tooth fairy and had kept a gift near his bed at night. ‘No, my boy. The tooth fairy would not require this infected tooth. She would be scared if she sees this.’ He laughed out loud, and I tried too, but was shut off by the intermittent throbs.

 

 

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