MIND THE GAP
8th December, 2011
Yesterday was what I call a luxurious New York City Day. We never left the apartment! And you know, it's just not done in this city. There's an implicit demand that you "experience" what New York has to offer, never mind that you should constantly be engaged with its relentless energy. As if to stop would be, if not the end of the world, certainly the end of your own.
But me, I love to stay home in New York. It's such a relief. I'm not talking about lazing on the couch all day with a box of chocolates and some glossies - although I might just do that, too. In fact, I did 2 loads of laundry, paid some bills and spent nearly 5 hours working on my final draft of the Provence text for submission to the publishers. Joel meanwhile, was working on his edit. We broke for lunch and watched the rain, the river a pale soggy ribbon, the sky a sad shade of grey. Late afternoon we lit the fire and sat side by side on the couch; Joel going through a stack of Provence photos while I read aloud to him from my text, words and images colliding, supporting, juxtaposing, creating the alchemy of our shared and separate experience. And still the rain came, increasing in volume and driven by fierce gusts of wind, it hammered against the panes as we drifted into sleep.
What a difference a day makes...24 little hours. At noon today I sat in the dentist chair managing a few minutes of enjoyment as I took in the view of the Cathedral of St. Patrick's spires piercing the space in front of a classic Manhattan backdrop - all glass and modernity, the rectangular planes creating an atmosphere of wealth and competition. I knew, had known for a couple of months that all was not well on the upper left side. A false tooth on an implant had got a small chip in it over the summer and then one day, while chewing on a baguette in Provence a deep dull sensation made me feel that if I bit down too hard something would give, and not in a generous way.
If you are my age and grew up in England teeth, one way or another, will not fare well. They will either arrive in your mouth at odd intervals and sit in complete disarray while being nationally accepted as part of one's eccentric birthright, or they will be sadistically abused by dentists of the NHS.
My first dental adventure, at the age of 4, was with the visiting school dentist who, without even the slightest greeting, ordered me into the chair, promptly stuck a contraption in my mouth to keep it open, gassed me, pulled a tooth (without any forewarning by her or my mother) and when I came to crying, told me to pull myself together.
For some reason I have one of the few sets of naturally straight, even teeth in the British Realm, but like much in my life, appearances aren't everything. My choppers may look good but strong they ain't. They've been drilled, filled, filed, pulled, bridged and finally, implanted. My career as a sugar addict and reluctant flosser I'm sure has nothing to do with it.
Once the dentist entered the room today I immediately lost my enthrallment with the view, especially as I closed my eyes at the same time. I do not want to see anything: no spiky things, no drills, pincers, needles, saws, hammers, tongs or any of the other atrocious "tools" of the trade. And I really resent the sound they make. How anyone can calmly recline and trust that all will be well while listening to the high-pitched scream of the Nazi drill INSIDE YOUR MOUTH is beyond me and inexcusable. People who say they don't mind going to the dentist either have no teeth or no ability to experience the human range of feeling of which FEAR is one of the biggest.
I try, I really do. I try to breathe, relax my shoulders, unwind my legs, release the pressure of my nails digging into my skin, but terror courses through me. Is this the price of imagination or am I, in fact, the weakling the school dentist judged me to be? I'm sorry, but do you know how close your upper teeth are to your brain? What if the drill gets carried away? What if the dentist sneezes? You could lose your tongue for chrissakes.
My dentist is a really good dentist. And he's a really good man. But he's still a dentist and right now I can tell that this tooth that I paid thousands of dollars for is not going to go gently. It's belligerent. And I just know that any second now I'm going to experience the kind of pain humans are not equipped to survive. I raise my hand. He stops. I tell him it's nerve-wracking. He agrees and brings in the gas. I am so thrilled. Look, I'm old enough to get to choose whether I die of fear or die happy. What's to choose?
After a few minutes I'm tripping on the way the patterned masonry of one of the spires surrenders its decades of meticulous carving and lets the sun fling it into abstract shapes that float on the surface of an un-windowed wall. And I think how lovely it would be if I could work on doing that with fear: if I could just surrender my rigidity to the light.
As it turns out my fear is not unfounded. The dentist feels there is trouble with the implant itself and decides to numb the area. He's great with a needle. That's a talent. After a few more heart-rending screams from the whirligig the tooth relents and departs the upper left side complete with implant. That's right. The whole $7,000 drops into the palm of his hand. And when we look at the titanium post we see there in not a trace of bone attached to it. In other words my bone rejected it from the get go. Hmmm, I say to myself, I'm really glad that didn't happen when I broke my neck 21 years ago and they grafted someone else's rib onto 4 vertebrae in order to literally hold me together.
It's not pretty right now when I smile. In fact it looks a bit British. But my neck's still holding up my head. My brain is as intact as it will ever be. And I can walk. I think I'll leave the implant under my pillow tonight. Let's see what the tooth fairy thinks of that!
