Archive | April, 2013

Dental mental and past life regressions

15 Apr

Burly Viking male

As I was sitting inside my dentist’s clinic today, intently watching my doctor take me through a virtual presentation on how he planned to go into my gums to embed an implant there, I had only one question to ask. I  wanted to know what were the chances that he would drill a hole in my gums all the way up to my sinuses and beyond? Any lesser man would have wanted to slap me, but this good and competent doctor is used to me by now and my questions neither amuse nor surprise him. This works perfectly well for me, for he always gives me the impression that he is taking me seriously. If the thought of fixing a counseling session for me before a dental appointment with him has crossed his mind ever, he has been polite enough to not voice it.

He patiently and calmly assured me that there was no chance that he would go beyond my bone and drill into my sinuses and began to take me through other aspects of the surgery that I did not wish to be acquainted with. I did not want to lie there with my eyes shut, visualizing the surgical procedure after gathering all this information and in fact, asked him if there was the possibility of me going under a general anesthesia during this operation. He chuckled briefly at what he probably assumed was a joke because, he clearly credits me with more intelligence than that. But truth be told, I was only half-joking. Not unlike my younger kid, who asks me a stupid question that she already knows I am going to roll my eyes at and then waits for my reaction before quickly telling me, “I was only joking mamma. I only wanted to see what your answer would be.”

Anyhow, we decided to get on it with and minutes later, I was lying supine on the chair covered in ominous green clothes that have quite obviously been designed by a person with no imagination or aesthetics at all. Why the medical frat will not rope in some competent designers to design some cheerful surgical clothing, both for the doctor and the patient, is beyond my logic.

I can picture a bunch of doctors, some hundred years ago, sitting around and discussing what clothes would best be suited for surgery. “I say, let’s get the patients in the mood for surgery by designing some basic green coloured clothing. It will set the tone,” I can hear one of them say. “Yeah, I am with you on that, just in case the patient is having any last-minute cheerful thoughts, this will work well enough to dampen his spirits and put the fear of the father, the son and the holy ghost in him. That way, he will not put up any resistance with the anesthesia or much later, while paying our bills.”

I had to take a break from this interesting conversation within my head as I saw the dentist and his team hover over my head. Even though my dentist has never caused me pain in all these years, my odontophobia (yes, that is the name) got the better of me. Lying there with my heart in my mouth, I felt like a death row inmate.  After my mouth had been rendered comfortably numb, I heard the doctor ask his assistant for a blade. Blade. B L A D E. I cannot say those words were music to my ears. I wished I had not heard them for all kinds of visuals crammed up my brain and I wondered if it would have been easier to go through brain surgery under local anesthesia instead of dental surgery. “Give me the knife nurse, we are slicing off the cranium now…. Give me E 12, this one is not sharp enough. Oops be careful or the brains will leak…..Oh…wait, you dropped them on the floor!! NURSE, now let us just  suture her up without the spilled brains….”

At one point during the procedure, I think I was close to passing out with anxiety and those crazy visuals. I wondered how weird it would be if people heard I fainted during a dental job. Mercifully, my blow-dried hair from the weekend was still in place. It was comforting to know that if the husband decided to land up at the clinic to press charges against my poor doctor while I lay there comatose, at least I would look presentable in my pictures.

The doctor asking his assistant to set the drilling machine on something 800 interrupted my comforting thoughts. Whatever was 800? Hertz, Megahertz, Volts? Hertz and Megahertz, I know from listening to the radio, and my older daughter’s science book, is the frequency of the radio station. It could not be that unless my surgery was being broadcast live on some radio station the doctor has given some sponsorship to. Which meant it WAS probably 800 Volts. Wasn’t that a lot? I shuddered as I tried to guess the unit the darned drilling machine was going to work on and so crippled was I with fear that I think I regressed into my past life.

As is typical of past life regressions, I reached a period, many hundred years ago somewhere in the 10th century. I saw myself dressed as a Viking. I was big and burly, had a yellowish golden beard, long yellow hair and a moustache. Before you assume I was a hirsute woman, let me clarify,  I was clearly a man in my past life. I don’t remember seeing any wife or children around me. I was shooting pints of some black brew with some other burly men like me. I asked one of those burly men if they knew where my wife was and he told me that she had left me for good and did not even want alimony.You would think that this news would make any man happy. But not me. I was sad, awfully bitterly sad. My burly Viking pal told me that since I had gum disease and tooth decay my wife could not bear to live in that one room house with me as my breath was killing her and the kids slowly anyway. I was saddened to hear that I had married such a shallow woman. My burly brethren advised me to see a dentist to sort out my halitosis problem and extract my decaying teeth to brighten my prospects of marriage again.

Next I was lying on a stone bed, covered in sheepskin to keep my shivers down. The old medicine man put some tincture on my gums and made me drink a brew that failed to anesthetize me. One would think my own body odour and that of the unbathed medicine man would be enough to do the job of an anesthetic but apparently not. The medicine man asked his assistant, a young boy with lice in his hair, for his hammer and pliers and yanking my mouth open he pulled the hand with the hammer all the way up to strike me with force when I shouted, “Noooo, stop stop.”

I suddenly heard some lounge music playing and as far as I knew there was no Buddha Bar in the 10th century. I struggled to open my eyes and what do you know? I had returned to my present lifetime and yes the lounge music was playing at my dentist’s clinic. As I tried to readjust to this reality, I heard myself  mumble ‘Please stop, stop’. Try doing that with your mouth wide open and all the tools of a home improvement tool box in it and  that should give you some idea of what I sounded like.

“You’re done Shunali. I am just going to stitch up the gums now.” Those are the cruelest words I have heard in a long time.

With that bit of information, the Doctor proceeded to suture my gums up gently. After the barbaric medicine man of my stinky past life, this experience with my dentist seemed rather like a welcome recreational activity. He went about stitching me up with different threads for such a long time that I had to raise my hand to interrupt and ask him if he thought he was darning old pants.

‘This is the last bit, must not rush this up. Are you in pain?” he asked me.

“No doctor, not in pain,” I assured him.

” No hurry doc, I am loving this so much I just do not want it to end,” is what I wanted to tell him, but he might have though I was being sarcastic. I did not want to risk that, because I wasn’t.


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