The Man with the Metal Torture Stick

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Every proper-bo traveller (which I am not but have aspirations to be) puts a dental check on their pre-trip to do list. It's the right thing to do because, in my head at least, Africa + dentists = a dirty great big pair of pliers and Storm screaming in pain.

No doubt this assumption is wildly incorrect but the image was enough to get me, last week, to make my first dental appointment in five years. With my confidence buoyed by a one-filling track record it wasn't until the dentist hit the front teeth and said 'good' for the first time that I realised how much trouble I was in.

It could be the rain water I drank as a kid on the farm, which was treated with whatever fell in the tank (i.e. Fluffy the cat) and not fluoride. Or the stupid amounts of Coke Zero I feel necessary to make my life worth living. Whatever. I needed eight fillings. Eight!

This is how I came to be in the unfortunate situation of needing to spend three consecutive days of my R&R at the dentists, learning some hard lessons.

Lessons About Dentists: Part 1

1) Don't drink before you go to the dentists. My mother will be horrified to read that I actually needed to learn this, however, what could I do? A tradition has developed that on the first day of break, the crew has lunch and beers at my place. Because some of us are on opposite swings to each other, it's the only chance we get to see each other. It's special. And I only had two.

Enough to get my mind off the teeth and concentrating on bladder control. Which in a way was a good thing...

2) Don't go to the dentist with a hangover. For the record (aka Mum), I don't have a drinking problem. It's just that after eight sober days in the desert a girl is entitled to drink champagne. Also, I get hangovers very easily, because I don't drink much. OK?

That aside, dentists and their metal torture sticks are scary. This impression is not improved when viewed through the glazed eyes of the hungover - a bit like choosing to watch the widescreen version of a horror film - and the sound of your teeth, your bones, being grated away, will jar jittery ears. Enough said.

3) Never follow a dentists appointment with dinner with the in-laws. It is truly hard to look like a contender when drinking beer through a straw.

If Grandad, who I was sitting next to, had kept up his side of the bargain and drooled and dropped half as much food on the table as I did, I would've felt better about the numb side of my face. Instead he maintained a tidy eating dignity and, in a gentlemanly fashion, looked away during my dribble checks.

To compound my dental shame, Az's very lovely Aunty - a dental nurse - presented us with bulk supplies of toothpaste, toothbrushes and floss; these are apparently quite expensive in Ghana. A thoughtful gesture that nonetheless made me feel like an even bigger cavity whore.

Desperate to avoid slurring in public I concocted a cunning plan centred on giving the canine circling the table a prolonged ear scratch, one that would hopefully last past desert. Unfortunately, as I went to do this the dog lunged at my hand (I'm guessing it smelt the dentist on me), making my sole contribution to the dinner conversation a blurry, 'it tried to bite me'.

As I pondered the possibility that it was one of those dogs highly regarded by the family as a 'good judge of character' my eyes started brimming with tears. For not only did I have a numb face and a hangover, but PMS.

It was one of the worst experiences in my life. Comfortingly, I don't think I can top it, so my paralysing fear of the in-laws might actually disappear.

Lessons About Dentists: Part 2

Don't trust them! They have be on an equal par with mechanics. Both always find something expensive in your mouth/car, about which you know nothing (possibly even its existence), that needs to be replaced/repaired/readjusted immediately unless you want to "risk further damage and cost".

In this case it's my one of my wisdom teeth, which apparently needs to be removed in the next 6 to 12 months. My scepticism about this was fuelled by hearing the exact same words from the dentist I saw five years ago.

Maybe the guy sensed this or maybe he's a money grubbing opportunist who saw 'occupation: miner' in my notes. Whatever the motivation, I'm damn sure he poked a hole in my gum, setting me up for the infection that is currently ravaging my mouth.

So, first day of break - lunch and beers, then dentist. A new tradition?

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