Nick Hardcastle

I had my new teeth fitted today. Wonderful. They feel great and I think they look good too. I discovered that “I got my teeth” is not an appropriate response to “Good morning”. How short memories are.

Whether in response to the teeth, or the great misfortune of having my chef go on holiday last week, I cooked a Thai green curry this evening. I think that this is the first time I have cooked in over 3 years.

I have a cold.

I’ve felt a little flat all day, but one glass of my homemade wine and I felt most cheerful. Must be strong stuff.

Well, I am still toothless after all these weeks.

Actually, that isn’t strictly true. I have a temporary, plastic bridge. It must look quite good if the number of compliments I get is anything to go by, but it feels rather strange. I tell people that I got it from a Christmas cracker, apart from the times when the words don’t come out properly and I say that they came from a Cream Cracker.

Last week should have seen the completion of my tooth replacement but the bridge didn’t fit. Much to my horror the dentist brought out the traction strips again and, without injections, proceeded to torture me for half an hour.

The second bridge didn’t fit either, and so I have spent a great deal of time at the dentists this week.

All being well the final product should be ready by Tuesday.

When this is all over, I’m not sure what I shall do with my free time.

I usually wear shorts in Saudi, even though they could be considered (er … are considered) culturally inappropriate. At the dentist though I have felt rather naked, lying in the chair surrounded by as many as half a dozen pretty young women. For a week now I have been changing into long trousers in the car before going in for treatment.

One day, after almost an hour in the chair, I drove back to An Nassim to pick up LuAnne. I was still wearing my long blue trousers. At the traffic lights I looked down at my feet. It was then that I realised I had forgotten to fasten my flies.

I might just wear shorts to the dentist in future.

The car smelled absolutely awful this evening – as though something had died under the seat. I checked for forgotten sandwiches, dead mice, overlooked passengers, but found nothing more likely than an empty waterbottle.

After dinner I went back to the car to look for my mobile phone, thinking perhaps I had dropped it on the floor when I came back from the dentist. The stench of dead bodies was, if anything, even worse. No phone though. I opened the windows and wondered where the smell was coming from.

I went back inside and rang the phone … well, I dialed what I though was my number. A young girl picked up. She didn’t speak English. The trouble was, I couldn’t be sure that it was the right number.

Having searched the house for the third time without success, and having been unable to track down my telephone number, I went back to the car. Maybe it was in the boot. It wasn’t. But the shopping that I had done two days ago was. Woops. I obviously forgot to take it out when I came back from Panda. No wonder Mohammad hadn’t cooked the steaks I had bought. They had matured nicely in the boot. Thank goodness the weather has been cold!

Shaking my head in disbelief, questioning my sanity and holding the shopping bags as far away from me as possible, I went back inside. Still no telephone.

I rang the number again. This time an adult answered, but she didn’t speak English either. She was definately trying to help though. I asked her if she was Filipina, thinking that I could get one of the maids on the compound to call her. “No, Indonesia”, she said. I explained why I was ringing. “No Sir, I’ve had the phone for a year.” In amongst a discussion of where we were both from and what we were doing in Saudi, she suggested that perhaps I should write my telephone number down somewhere.

I found my phone some time later, waiting for me under the chair. I have now written down the number.

It took me two hours before I could feel my face again. Samy was still ironing when I went down to the kitchen to eat. We chatted as I fried paratha. He came to the Kingdom twelve years ago to the day. I gave him my old Ricoh GR1 to cellebrate the occasion. He looked delighted.

It was whilst we were chatting that I realised I had lost my phone.

I was rather out of it last night when I got back from the dentist. I’ve been at the dentist every day for the last week and have gradually found myself relaxing more and more. Dr Baldwin, my childhood dentist, used to believe in doing fillings without anasthesia. “This will hurt a little” he used to say. Even though my dentist now uses enough anesthesia to leave me dead from the neck up, I find myself tense from shoulders to my toes.

The day before the dentist had finished the drilling and preparing my teeth for the bridge. Afterwards I had been shopping and then called in at Olive Garden for a pizza on the way home. Eating calzone with a numb mouth is quite amusing, but I managed it without accident.

Yesterday I was expecting a short visit – an impression and maybe an x-ray or too. I cheerfully asked the dentist what she was going to do. “Traction strips and and impression” she said, rubbing my gums with something to numb them before proceeding to load two full syringes of anesthetic into my gums through a needle that seemed unnecessarily thick. Why does a prick in your mouth make your toes curl?

The dentist vanished and a nurse appeared with small threads that looked a little like small pieces of climbing cord. Explaining that the cord was to stretch my gums so that the impression would allow enough room for the bridge to fit naturally under my gum line, she proceeded to stuff the cords between my gums and teeth. A painfull process, even with a numb head.

Two hours later, exhausted and with a throbbing jaw, I drove home.

Fortunately not ones that I have to mark, or grade as my American friends might say.

The day after the accident I went to the dentist, who armed me with antibiotics, temporary fillings, a mouthwash that numbed and instructions to return in two weeks once the swelling had gone down.

With a heavily grazed face, a bright red nose, burst lips and no front teeth, I looked like a boxer – a bad one.

The King Fahad hospital had told me that I could go back for a CT scan, but as we have good health insurance I decided to go to the Saad first. I called in to see the doctor who had treated me and collected an accident report, x-rays and the results of my blood tests. She was very pleasant and seemed relieved that I would be relieving her of some of the workload.

The Saad clinic is thorough. The GP examined me, read the medical report and then sent me to the Consultant Internist. He sent me to the cardiologist and the neurologist. At each doctors station a bevy of nurses took my vital signs, which, as you might expect, remained constant.

Several weeks later, and following an EEG, ECG, CT and ECG Treadmill test, and an echocardiogram, the conclusion is … nothing wrong, but try to avoid running through flashing lights. Oh … and if you feel strange, sit down before falling down. Good to know my heart is in good working order and that my blood works are all fine. I have a brain too, although looking at the CT scan images it does look rather like a poached salmon.