All teeth and feet today

I went to the dentist this morning. Ron Gower drove me. My appointment was scheduled for 9:15, so of course, Ron picked me up at a quarter past eight. It’s about a fifteen minute drive from my home to the dental office. I like to arrive on time; Ron likes to be early.

“It’s rush hour and everything,” Ron explained. “It’ll take longer to get there with the traffic.”

Er, yes. Right.

I arrived at Dr. Weinstein’s office at about 8:35. After carefully descending the stairs from the parking lot, I discovered the office was still closed so I sat quietly on a chair in the hall and practiced a meditation exercise I learned a few years ago. The good doctor arrived a half hour later. At 9:00. When the office opens.

"C'mon on in," he said. "Been waiting long?"

We exchanged pleasantries for a bit then he lead me to "the chair."

"Here you go. Let's have a look, then. Open up."

I leaned back, opened my mouth and prepared for the worst. I broke a piece off the side of a tooth about three months ago. I ignored it as long as I could, Ms J. It's been hurting lately, though. I could ignore it no longer.

"Mmm-hmm," said Dr. Weinstein. "I see you've broken a tooth back here. This'll need some attention right away."

I opened my eyes and stared up his nose. It appeared to be clogged solid with thick black hair. I wondered how he could still breathe. His hands smelled of soap.

When he took a blunt metal intrument and tapped lightly on a tooth, I nearly bit his fingers off!

"Yeah, that's the one, isn't it?"

Well, duh.

He administered copious amounts of anesthetic, and eventually drilled and filled two molars (upper and lower). The entire right side of my face felt as though it had melted and slid down onto my chest.

I hate the dentist drill. I can always see and smell what looks to me like smoke. And the odour makes me slightly nauseous. I was in the chair for over an hour, with my mouth agape nearly all that time. My jaw was beginning to ache when he finally handed me a tiny paper cup half full of tepid water.

“OK,” he said. “You can rinse.”

I tipped the cup toward my mouth, but with no feeling in my face whatsoever, I poured most of the water onto my shirt. I just carried on though, as if I had meant to soak myself, and leaned over to spit in the tiny porcelain bowl. I tried my best to expel the water from my mouth and direct it toward the swirling water beside me, but despite my best efforts, neither tongue nor lips would cooperate.

“Kleenekf,” I slobbered. “I need fum Kleenekf.”

Messy business, that. Messy and embarrassing. It is 3:30 pm now and my face is finally beginning to feel normal again.

I'm just home from a 2:00 physio appointment. It was good. Barbara massaged my foot and then hooked me up to the electro muscle stimulation machine. I rather enjoy the tingling sensation I feel when a small electrical charge is fed through the muscle on the front of my leg. It causes my toes to raise up slightly.

I told Barbara that I had withdrawn from the play and that I felt sad and disappointed. She was kind and compassionate. I like Barbara.

Sabina (I call her Beanzy) is the assistant to Barbara. She’s young and attractive. Beanzy came to me when Barbara had finished. She always helps me with my strengthening exercises.

“So I checked you out on the internet yesterday,” she said with a wide smile.

“Oh?” I said. “How come?”

“Well, I was thinking about coming to see you in your play and I couldn’t remember what it was called so I just did a search of Dale Pringle. It showed a picture of you and a personal bio. It said you're divorced and you have two kids. It said you won two awards for acting in a comedy or something. Is that right?”

I felt flattered, Ms J, that Beanzy had wanted to see my play. And I was surprised (foolishly) that she found that much about me by searching the internet. I have a weblog, in case anyone hasn't noticed. Duh!

I looked at her face for a moment while I did my leg raises. Gosh, she has pretty blue eyes.

“I have some bad news for you, Beanzy. I’m not in the play anymore. I quit on Saturday.”

She asked me why and I explained about not being able to drive and only attending a third of the rehearsals.

“It’s just the best thing right now, Beanzy. I can’t offer this play my full focus and I don’t want to give it less than my best.”

She was disappointed, I think.

“That’s too bad, Dale,” she said. “I was looking forward to seeing you on stage. I bet you’re a good actor.”

Yeah, Beanzy. Good enough to know when I’m beaten. Smart enough to surrender to reality. And, I thought ruefully, old enough to be your father.