Gy rights, I shoulg be tyking like gis.
My wisdom tooth is now sitting folornly on my desk in front of me, a surprisingly large enamel fascist covered in dried blood.
In my innocence, I had assumed I'd pop into the dentist who would cheerfully extract the tooth with a gentle pop, the pain subsiding like water down a plughole. I did not expect:
1) Lying in a chair caked in my own sweat
2) Five local injections during a half-hour rape
3) Having the gum around my tooth sliced open with a scalpel
4) Being literally stiched up
5) Being financially stitched up
It is not often I bemoan selling my car a couple of years ago. After all, there is no real need to have a vehicle when you live in London, plus spiralling costs to run the fucker had put paid to that.
But to have one yesterday, that would've been sweet.
It took me an hour and a half to tube it to the private dentist my Mum recommended. And he is a very nice man. His surgery was spotless, modern and clean, his walls covered in commendations and certificates. I got the sense that he had a well-deserved and very comfortable life.
Although he should've been a butcher.
I was keen to know if I had been somewhat of a primadonna to be haranguing the NHS as an emergency case they'd refused to deal with, but the good dentist reassured me that I wasn't imagining things.
'Oh crikey', he'd said when he first looked into my mouth.
'Excellent', I thought. 'This is bad after all. Right, get on with it then.'
'You may feel a slight prick', said the dentist without irony.
I am Lord of the Pricks, my friend. There is nothing slight about it.
Then he stabbed me in the cheek with a disturbingly thick needle. It hurt. Considerably. But I didn't care. Once injected, that's as painful as it's going to get.
Or so I thought.
He injected me a second time. My lips went numb, then my tongue, as if I'd been french kissing icebergs. The dentist started to chisel at my gum, a strange sensation, a bit like being felt up by a loved one whilst sedated by novocaine. You may be able to feel their wrist on your thigh, you may even think that you can, in fact, feel their gentle carress on your sensitive bits, but you can't. All numb, but being able to feel the surrounding non-numb areas confounds your senses.
'Oh golly', said the dentist.
'Unggh?' I replied.
'Your abscess has burst. There's pus everywhere.'
'Angh'. I'm so fucking sexy.
He chislled away. He then produced a drill to peel away the gum from the tooth. Then he procured a pair of handheld dental clamps.
The 21st fucking century and we haven't advanced one iota. Having never had a tooth removed in my life, I had assumed that maybe there'd be some kind of machine for this, but no, just good old pliers.
I began to sweat. The dentist's assistant held the suction device that I'm more used to seeing remove saliva. I noticed with considerable angst the transparent tube vaccuum up clumps of thick, sticky blood instead.
'Are you ok?'
The injections were meaningless. I still felt pain as the dentist tugged and tugged at the tooth and flirted with nerves that hadn't been rendered immune to pain.
'Hmm. It's not coming out.' He swapped tools and continued chiselling, reaching again for the pliers and twisting, enthusiastically fucking TWISTING, as if he was attempting to wrestle a cork from a particularly stubborn bottle of Pinot.
For ten minutes.
'CHIIIST!' I screamed, involuntarily grabbing hold of the dentist's arm.
'Oh my. I think I'll have to cut the gum open.'
Shit. From deciding it wanted out, my tooth was now resolutely staying in. I had wondered how he was going to pluck this thing from its home. After all, when I looked into my mouth that morning, I could only see the merest glisten of tooth as the rest of it was buried by a sea of angry red gum.
So the dentist produced a scalpel and deftly sliced it open. Now he had something his pliers could grab on to, even if I was gargling blood.
I was shaking now, a sheen of sweat all over me. I wriggled. I squirmed. Then the dentist clamped his free hand to the lower half of my mouth.
'I don't want to dislocate your jaw while I do this.'
'I'm SAS', I think to myself. 'I'm SAS and I'm being tortured by fundamentalists but I'm in an Elite Squad and can take this.'
I relaxed my body and tried a Fuck You smile, except a man had his gloved hands in my mouth.
Then the dentist began tugging with a ferocity that scared me. Surely when this fucker pops out, he's going to smash all my upper teeth?
'Fuggin' huggy ug!' I yelled.
I started crying. A tear left the corner of one eye and escaped down my face and presumably onwards down a numb cheek, while my hands gripped onto the armrests for dear life.
'Ah! It's out,' said Klaus Barbie, except it was out in a sense. He still had to trim it from its moorings and continue yanking. Aparrently the roots of this tooth had fused and another bone had grown in between like a wrought iron anchor.
When it was over, I didn't feel relieved. I felt very, very shaken. I felt sick and disorientated. I heard a chink as the tooth was removed and dropped onto a stainless steel trolley.
'Fucking cunt', I directed silently at the tooth. And a little bit at the dentist.
I don't think I can repeat that three more times for the other wisdom teeth.
The dentist stitched me up. I lie there impassively, the victim of a brutal assault, my head getting tugged to one side as the stitch is stretched its full length. I sit up as he told me what tablets to take and when, but I'm not really listening. I was trying to figure out how I will be able to make it home during the rush-hour commute while feeling a shell of my former self.
By the time I do get home, I felt no pain. The pills have worked and I'm even anticipating going out on Saturday night.
And then I wake up after a night's sleep. The painkillers have done their duty and I now feel awful. On looking in the mirror, I have an invisible golfball in my mouth and one side of my face looks like it's doing Marlon Brando's Don Corleone.
I paid a lot of money for this service. This has been an absurdly expensive April which started with a large three-figure bill for bike repairs and ended with a like amount for getting this fucking tooth removed. In between saw me attempting to melt my credit card in New York as I spent myself into a better mood.
Mindless shopping and wisdom teeth are rubbish. And I probably shouldn't be smoking. I've only had a few but you don't want to know what a mess the inside of my mouth looks like. Ok, I'll tell you: Like a tiny post-pregnancy vagina.
And speaking of vaginas, I used to think I was clinically undatable. Now I don't have a peaceful resolution's chance in Baghdad with anyone.
Even the Elephant Man would point and laugh at me.