Sunday, 20 April 2014

The Dentists Chair

Reared back up in jerky chair, feet back on the floor,
Blood runs back into me toes, me bulging eyes back in once more.

This is a copy of a letter/email to a friend of mine down the road who is recovering at home from a serious operation.

Dear John,
As you may have gathered, we haven't got much on at the moment, and a bit of time to bgguer about writing. As you must know when I had my op on my knees they for some mysterious reason they insisted I see a dentist, somatt ta do with a rotten tooth could make the metal in the joint reject. But John you must have been told this for what op's you've been throooo.
Before my op, I had never in me life sat in a dentist chair, or had anyone fiddle with me teeth, so I booked in at Castlefields Surgery dentist, pay a monthly standing order ca-chinnnnnnng, (their cash till) , and pay them a visit every six months. I have been there now twenty times in the last ten years and still they have done nothing other than scrape and polish. I have cleaned (brushed is what they call it) my teeth once before each visit on the morning of the visit   (Nothing to be proud of according to Eileen, but then I call it sour grapes as she cleans her teeth two time a day every day and almost always has to have something done ca---chinnnnnnnng)
So I am getting to know my dentist quite well, for they know they only have to count them and poke round them, and find time to fill in the ten minuet slot allotted to me. She asked me (the dentist), as I think they are asking every customer, what is my experience or my views while in the dentists. (She will wish she hadn't). However when Eileen has to go back next week for TREATMENT on her teeth   ca-chinnnnnnnng, I will send the following.

 Are you Sitting Comfortably

 ( in the dentist chair with a cup of what looks like weak ribena ta rinse ya mouth)

Sit looking through dark goggles, up into a light,
Shining from a wobbly arm, just a tad off white,
Hovering just above ya head, no sun tan will you get,
Just a beam of light to shine, think it’s my sunset.

A two inch square to tissue, n’ a cup weak bilberry juice,
Open up me north and south, now there’s no excuse,
They always seem to work from behind, where you cannot see,
And speak in muffled tones aloud, casual and carefree.

The high-tech chair jumps down a step, head below me feet,
A clink of tools are gathered up, dentist adjusts her seat
Forelocked head of curls appear, eyes behind a shield,
A tool gripped in big knuckled fingers, now begin to wield.

A rear view mirror push down me throat, see my teeth all round,
Couple of inches further down, me tonsils will be crowned,
Only counting what I’ve got, choking on me tongue,
Call themselves a dentist, hope they won’t take long.

A hook appears before me eyes, gripped tight in dentist’s fist,
“Open wide and move ya tongue, see what’s on my checklist”,
Hoover pipe switched on too high, clean me mouth outright,
Wunder what’s found in the bag, when they clean it out at night?

The foundation of each tooth is cleaned, n’ fertilize the roots,
With gritty paste they brush right in, just like cleaning boots,
Reared back up in jerky chair, feet back on the floor,
Blood runs back into me toes, me bulging eyes back in once more.

They’ve no idea what we go through, the trauma and the stress,
Quaking in our shoes they ask, have we got your right address,
Your medication up to date, just got to tick the box,
N’ sign it at the bottom, “Oh I see you’ve had small pox”.

New appointment six months time, ring you day before,
Make sure were live and kickin, and brushed me teeth once more,
Got to have them checked agen, keep the rot at bay,
A healthy head of teeth’s the aim, is what I should portray.

Owd Fred

I think I should be charging them for ten minuets of entertainment and filling ten minutes of their day, there aint much wear and tare on their equipment when I go.
When you hear about the horror stories of people's visits to the dentist, it crosses my mind as what could happen if you really upset your dentist and what revenge they could inflict. So John I closed my eyes and this is what I envisaged.

I'd Hate to Upset my Dentist

I'd hate to upset my dentist, the revenge they could inflict,
You cannot see their face at all, but their eyes you can depict,
A knee upon my chest to hold, me down while they inject,
Now I know what mole grips are, from my tool box nicked,
To grip and pull and twist with glee, a sound tooth they would eject,
With pain and blood and sweat and tears, I know that I've been tricked,

Touch of a button on the chair, and upright I am flicked,
To sway and stumble for my coat, this I should predict,
Tooth ache still there I am aware, no strength have I object,
May be better next time round, think this was why I panicked.
I wake up from my nightmare; on the calendar I've ticked,
When next to see the dentist, their appointment time is strict,

"Be here at ten, you know the rules", then with her finger clicked,
Computers will not bend the time, and cannot be unpicked,
So to Nicola and her crew I beg, your boots they will be licked,
I will tell all those I know, you are the best in this district,
And please don't bare a grudge with me, my age it does restrict,
I'm old and grey, come what may, so please let's change this subject.

Owd Fred

All the best Fred.

Dentist, n.: A Prestidigitator who, putting metal in one's mouth, pulls coins out of one's pocket.
Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914)

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