My friends are surprised when I say that I hate going to the doctor’s.
“But you’re a doctor yourself!” they exclaim.
Yes, your point being?
Face it, the only reason why you would go see a doctor or some other health care professional is because you are in some form of misery; whether it’s that stinging sensation every time you pee or that odd-looking mold growing on your toe – whatever it is, it’s not pleasant.
Of course, if you are in the UK, some old folks treat a visit to their general practitioner as a nice day out. You can’t blame them really, because it’s just about their only social contact in the world but in Malaysia, decent health care is you can afford to pay. So unless you’re rolling around in agony, forget about the health check ups, pap smears, breast exams and so forth. Let’s just wait till you drop dead of a heart attack aged 42.
I’m one to talk of course. In the UK, it is mandatory to be registered with a GP whose practice covers the area you live in but I moved all over Merseyside and Cheshire and was still on the books at my university clinic.
I went to the dentist yesterday for a check up. I’ve been meaning to go for ages but I kept putting it off. Why look for trouble where there is none? I have so far been lucky and have escaped the need for fillings and what not, but I dread to think what a steady diet of coffee, soft drinks and chewing gum since my university days have done to my teeth. I’ve been getting the odd sharp pain whenever I eat cold food and I had some unexplained cuts in my mouth which have gotten infected twice this past year.
Time to see the dentist? You bet. But really, who would want to go see the dentist unless you absolutely have to, no matter what you know you should do?
Finally, I went with my dad who went because his teeth were agony and then my mum decided to come along to get her teeth checked too.
It’s always nice to have a doctor/dentist who is professional and has your best interests at heart, rather than trying to make a quick buck out of you. I was feeling sheepish for not having been to a dentist for about five years (hey, doctors do stupid things too) but my dentist was very nice and more concerned with my potential for developing cavities and the non-eruption of my lower wisdom teeth.
Note: I’m sorry if all this grosses out the regular readers but I love talking about body parts and diseases.
It appears that my upper wisdom teeth have popped out but it’s sitting there collecting junk and generally being useless because it has no lower wisdom teeth to gnash on. Where it’s currently positioned, my dentist says, is causing a lot of trauma to my inner cheeks which explains the cuts in my mouth that I’ve been getting.
“You had braces before didn’t you?” Dr. R asks.
“Yes, when I was about sixteen.”
“Your front teeth are starting to buck again,” she says. “It’s leaving an indentation on your lower lip.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that. But my retainers don’t seem to be doing the job anymore. Well, partly because I don’t wear them much, but they hurt more now and lower one doesn’t fit anymore.”
My mum walks into the consultation room at this point.
“You grind your teeth at night?” Dr. R asks.
“Yes.”
“Chew your fingernails?” she continues.
“Uh, yes.” I sometimes chew on the dinner plates too, but I don’t tell her this.
“Why would you do that?” my mum interjects from her position by the door.
“Stress,” Dr. R replies the same time as I say, “Nervousness.”
My mum doesn’t say anything else.
Once we were done with the scaling and polishing, Dr. R x-rays my teeth to see where the absent wisdom teeth were and lo and behold, there were the two of them on either side of my jaw hiding beneath the gums. It’s quite awesome to see (I’ve only ever had my chest X-rayed) because one tooth is completely lying on its side. It frankly looks bizarre.
Dr R is unhappy about this because she says that that is not good. I need to have both teeth out, as well as the upper ones out because they are non-functioning and would be a focal point for developing cavities.
“Shall I make another appointment to see you then?” I ask.
Dr. R shakes her head and says no, I would need to see a different specialist for this because removing the lower wisdom teeth is not a simple extraction like the upper ones are. For this, I would need to see an oral surgeon because removing the lower wisdom teeth requires making an incision in the gums and all. Gulp.
“Minor surgery?” I squeaked.
“Yes.”
“And I should get all four teeth taken out at the same time?”
“Yes.”
The last time I had four teeth taken out was right before I had my braces put in. My then dentist said that I had too many teeth for the size of my mouth (my mother always did insist on plenty of calcium for us kids), so I had four premolars taken out. It was in a government clinic at Sinar Kota in KL. You wait for your turn in the corridor and when you were called, you went into this long room with several dentist chairs lined up in a row, all filled with patients having their teeth extracted. I remember a very young dentist sweating and grunting trying to get my teeth out and exclaiming in frustration that they were too strong.
It was on the last tooth that she pulled so hard she broke the body of the tooth, leaving one of the roots inside. I still remember her eyes widening and the look of panic she shot across to her assistant, who was standing there gaping, looking down on me. The dentist said she needed to dig around in my gums, for the root, because she couldn’t leave it in there. Eventually she did manage to get it out, but she tore such a big hole in my gum, she had to put stitches in. By this time, the anaesthetic was starting to wear off, and one side of my face was starting to throb. Mentally, I was just trying to hold on and get it over with.
Finally she was finished and she suggested going to the sink by the door to wash my face. I staggered upright, feeling a bit faint and tottered over to the sink. There was a mirror above it and I remember looking at it and not quite recognising myself. I was white as a sheet and there was blood spattered on my face and down my bib. Bits of hair had escaped my ponytail and it was standing in some sort of crazy halo around my head, as if even my hair had been frightened by my ordeal. At that moment the door opened and the patients sitting in the corridor saw me standing there all bloodied and ghastly-looking. I could see the look of horror on their faces, looking at me and thinking, ye gods, this was the fate that awaited them too. I nearly laughed but it was too painful to.
That was more than a decade ago and I don't think I'm traumatised by it. I pretty much know what goes on when you do have surgery, and this oral surgeon I'm supposed to be seeing is supposed to be good, albeit expensive. So, wish me luck and the next time you'll be seeing me, I'll be down four teeth.
“But you’re a doctor yourself!” they exclaim.
Yes, your point being?
Face it, the only reason why you would go see a doctor or some other health care professional is because you are in some form of misery; whether it’s that stinging sensation every time you pee or that odd-looking mold growing on your toe – whatever it is, it’s not pleasant.
Of course, if you are in the UK, some old folks treat a visit to their general practitioner as a nice day out. You can’t blame them really, because it’s just about their only social contact in the world but in Malaysia, decent health care is you can afford to pay. So unless you’re rolling around in agony, forget about the health check ups, pap smears, breast exams and so forth. Let’s just wait till you drop dead of a heart attack aged 42.
I’m one to talk of course. In the UK, it is mandatory to be registered with a GP whose practice covers the area you live in but I moved all over Merseyside and Cheshire and was still on the books at my university clinic.
I went to the dentist yesterday for a check up. I’ve been meaning to go for ages but I kept putting it off. Why look for trouble where there is none? I have so far been lucky and have escaped the need for fillings and what not, but I dread to think what a steady diet of coffee, soft drinks and chewing gum since my university days have done to my teeth. I’ve been getting the odd sharp pain whenever I eat cold food and I had some unexplained cuts in my mouth which have gotten infected twice this past year.
Time to see the dentist? You bet. But really, who would want to go see the dentist unless you absolutely have to, no matter what you know you should do?
Finally, I went with my dad who went because his teeth were agony and then my mum decided to come along to get her teeth checked too.
It’s always nice to have a doctor/dentist who is professional and has your best interests at heart, rather than trying to make a quick buck out of you. I was feeling sheepish for not having been to a dentist for about five years (hey, doctors do stupid things too) but my dentist was very nice and more concerned with my potential for developing cavities and the non-eruption of my lower wisdom teeth.
Note: I’m sorry if all this grosses out the regular readers but I love talking about body parts and diseases.
It appears that my upper wisdom teeth have popped out but it’s sitting there collecting junk and generally being useless because it has no lower wisdom teeth to gnash on. Where it’s currently positioned, my dentist says, is causing a lot of trauma to my inner cheeks which explains the cuts in my mouth that I’ve been getting.
“You had braces before didn’t you?” Dr. R asks.
“Yes, when I was about sixteen.”
“Your front teeth are starting to buck again,” she says. “It’s leaving an indentation on your lower lip.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that. But my retainers don’t seem to be doing the job anymore. Well, partly because I don’t wear them much, but they hurt more now and lower one doesn’t fit anymore.”
My mum walks into the consultation room at this point.
“You grind your teeth at night?” Dr. R asks.
“Yes.”
“Chew your fingernails?” she continues.
“Uh, yes.” I sometimes chew on the dinner plates too, but I don’t tell her this.
“Why would you do that?” my mum interjects from her position by the door.
“Stress,” Dr. R replies the same time as I say, “Nervousness.”
My mum doesn’t say anything else.
Once we were done with the scaling and polishing, Dr. R x-rays my teeth to see where the absent wisdom teeth were and lo and behold, there were the two of them on either side of my jaw hiding beneath the gums. It’s quite awesome to see (I’ve only ever had my chest X-rayed) because one tooth is completely lying on its side. It frankly looks bizarre.
Dr R is unhappy about this because she says that that is not good. I need to have both teeth out, as well as the upper ones out because they are non-functioning and would be a focal point for developing cavities.
“Shall I make another appointment to see you then?” I ask.
Dr. R shakes her head and says no, I would need to see a different specialist for this because removing the lower wisdom teeth is not a simple extraction like the upper ones are. For this, I would need to see an oral surgeon because removing the lower wisdom teeth requires making an incision in the gums and all. Gulp.
“Minor surgery?” I squeaked.
“Yes.”
“And I should get all four teeth taken out at the same time?”
“Yes.”
The last time I had four teeth taken out was right before I had my braces put in. My then dentist said that I had too many teeth for the size of my mouth (my mother always did insist on plenty of calcium for us kids), so I had four premolars taken out. It was in a government clinic at Sinar Kota in KL. You wait for your turn in the corridor and when you were called, you went into this long room with several dentist chairs lined up in a row, all filled with patients having their teeth extracted. I remember a very young dentist sweating and grunting trying to get my teeth out and exclaiming in frustration that they were too strong.
It was on the last tooth that she pulled so hard she broke the body of the tooth, leaving one of the roots inside. I still remember her eyes widening and the look of panic she shot across to her assistant, who was standing there gaping, looking down on me. The dentist said she needed to dig around in my gums, for the root, because she couldn’t leave it in there. Eventually she did manage to get it out, but she tore such a big hole in my gum, she had to put stitches in. By this time, the anaesthetic was starting to wear off, and one side of my face was starting to throb. Mentally, I was just trying to hold on and get it over with.
Finally she was finished and she suggested going to the sink by the door to wash my face. I staggered upright, feeling a bit faint and tottered over to the sink. There was a mirror above it and I remember looking at it and not quite recognising myself. I was white as a sheet and there was blood spattered on my face and down my bib. Bits of hair had escaped my ponytail and it was standing in some sort of crazy halo around my head, as if even my hair had been frightened by my ordeal. At that moment the door opened and the patients sitting in the corridor saw me standing there all bloodied and ghastly-looking. I could see the look of horror on their faces, looking at me and thinking, ye gods, this was the fate that awaited them too. I nearly laughed but it was too painful to.
That was more than a decade ago and I don't think I'm traumatised by it. I pretty much know what goes on when you do have surgery, and this oral surgeon I'm supposed to be seeing is supposed to be good, albeit expensive. So, wish me luck and the next time you'll be seeing me, I'll be down four teeth.
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