My Granpa's toothbrush

The other day I went to the dentist and ended up back in another hospital waiting room. As if I hadn’t sat in enough hospital waiting rooms this year already. I was sitting there, alone, in the empty waiting room, reading the posters about the ‘signs of a stroke’ or the ‘what to do if you find yourself pregnant’.
Not an hour before I had been sitting back in the dentist’s chair, relaxing, confident to expect the usual quick check up with only the slight risk of a minor clean up. The minor clean ups usually consist of the dentist chatting away, poking at my teeth with that ridiculously pointy pen like probe while the girl, the assistant or apprentice dentist, or whoever the devil she is, moves around my gums with the mouth hoover.

The dentist’s suction device is uncomfortable at the best of times. As the dentist scrapes, the small white plastic tube moves round the mouth, doing it’s best to suck up all the saliva that suddenly gathers in your open mouth as the dentist moves about in there. It’s like one of those small hoovers you get for hoovering your keyboard, sucking up all the dust and debris that gathers in-between your keys. Similar to a Henry the hoover except a lot less friendly. Instead of a smiley, happy, red, bowler hatted face, you have the apprentice dentist grimacing at you from above, sometimes from behind a mask, worn presumably for hygiene purposes. Or maybe worn just in case you suddenly take a dislike to her suction skills and decide to spit some gathering saliva into her face.
If I was my dentist and this girl was my apprentice, I’d fire her immediately. Within moments of beginning the hoovering procedure she managed to get the suction tube stuck on my tongue at least three times, hoovering up my taste buds. At one point she almost took my head with her as she moved to withdraw the hoover nozzle from my mouth, my tongue trapped in a slim tunnel of suction.
My Dad, who has also visited the dentist twice this week, was on the phone the other night talking of his second visit which was to follow the next morning. He was also complaining about the ‘suction girl’ on his first visit, hoping it would be a different girl the next morning as on his first visit she poked the stick too far into his mouth nearly causing him to gag. If one thing’s for sure, nobody likes their own Dad’s gags.
After a quick look over my teeth, which consisted of the dentist murmuring strange numbers out, to which the apprentice presumably took notes somewhere, and prodding the occasional gum, the dentist informed me that she would like me to take a trip to the hospital. Apparently there was a wisdom tooth in there of ‘extreme concern’. After having been expecting the usual, ‘fine, on you go’ routine, I immediately went into a ridiculous case of panic.
A rogue wisdom tooth was of extreme concern! What the hell was it doing in there?! Was it pushing the other teeth around? Bullying the molars? Were all my teeth going to fall out? I hadn’t felt any pain?! So abandoning any ideas of having any free time for the rest of the day I raced to the car and headed straight for the hospital.
However, within the hour, I found myself standing in an X-ray machine, the scanning plates circling my head as I grinned into a blank screen biting down into a covered plastic mouthpiece. Considering the X-ray was all very urgent and last minute I was extremely surprised to have been taken and zapped so quickly. The NHS can be wonderful sometimes.
On my return to the dental surgery the dentist looked over my X-ray and thankfully informed me that the situation was not as grave as originally thought. The wisdom tooth in my lower right gum is growing in at a horizontal angle to rest of my gnashers and as a result I had been missing a spot in my brushing for the past six months, thus causing some slight staining, decay and risk of infection. Thankfully it was treatable and as long as my wisdom tooth stops moving and forcing it’s way into the party that is my lower teeth I’ll get away with not having it pulled from my jaw. However, the spot that I was missing in brushing is still tricky to clean and as a result, thanks to the dental hygienist that seen me on my second visit, I now have a Granpa brush.
As a child I always used to wonder what kind of teeth my Granpa had. Every time I visited the bathroom, in my Gran and Granpa’s house, I would always see his big purple toothbrush standing in the toothbrush holder and always wondered what kind of teeth would have such a brush. It was the strangest tooth brush I’d ever seen.
This purple instrument not only had large black bristles but had them mounted in a small, tight circular fashion on the brush’s head. All toothbrushes everywhere had larger, rectangular shaped clusters of white bristles. Everyone knew and obeyed that well known toothbrush buying philosophy. This toothbrush was an abomination! So why on earth did Granpa get this strange looking brush for his teeth?
A little later I realised it must have been a special kind of brush for dentures as I realised he wore false teeth. He would sometimes click the false set around his jaws as he sat and watched the horse racing on the tv. I would be quietly sitting, either watching the tv, or playing with my Star wars figures on the other couch when an odd clicking would start echoing through the room. On more than one occasion I remember it took me a while to realise from where the noise came as I frowned at various corners of the living room around me.
So, with the vision of the purple brush in mind, it was with some shock that the dental hygienist told me to buy one in order to reach the rogue wisdom tooth’s pesky hidden depths. Does this mean I am now on the road to false teeth. Teeth that click or clack whenever your horse is en route to the finish line?
The dental hygienist, and the branding, call it an ‘Interspace’ brush, which makes it sound quite exciting, perhaps a toothbrush piloted by a mini Dennis Quaid. Just looking at it feels me with fear and dread. It’s a reminder that not only am I going to have to brush with a little more care from now on but I’m also heading towards the risk of noisy dentures.
Thankfully though, my ‘Interspace’ toothbrush does not have black bristles, and it is certainly not purple.

Some kind of normality

Ka's in Africa. That's the latest. One of the wee boys in Ka's Nursery turned round to one of her colleagues today and asked, "When's Ka coming back from Africa?".
This was after the kids had all been sat down last week and told the story of how Lucy went to Heaven. Obviously this particular little boy hadn't been paying much attention. Either that or he's under the impression Heaven is a northerly region of the second largest continent and Ka's joined Lucy over there for a safari.
It was back to some kind of normality this week as I went back to work for the first time since before the new year. It was harder than I thought, sitting at my computer, working on ads again after everything that has happened, so I was a little sluggish to begin with.
It just doesn't seem right. Ka and myself feel like we should be doing other things. Life should be more enjoyable, messier and more hectic after the build up of the past nine months. We should be getting used to a new way of life when, in reality, life is pretty much the same as it was nine months ago. Nothing has changed except the grief we will forever feel at the back of our minds, slowly sinking out of sight but never relieving it's weight.
Work, gym, cinema, shopping, meals at relatives. They have all been attempts at keeping us occupied but all seem vaguely different somehow. We can't escape the feeling that there should be more going on. Someone else around, keeping us occupied.
Yesterday morning I was on one of my many stridings through the wilderness that is the EK shopping centre, surroundings not unlike the wilds of Africa described by Ka's wee nursery pupil by the look of some of the folk that inhabit the place on a normal weekday morning as some of them look as if they've just escaped from cages.
Another trip to the dentist had been successfully accomplished on time with just moments to spare. After, once more, answering and grudgingly attempting to tell of recent events involving losing one's baby, in this instance to the friendly receptionist and our nice dentist, I went on my way through the mall with polished teeth..
Next stop, the post office and as I marched I spotted something whilst passing one of the larger charity shops that stopped me dead in my tracks. A large Yamaha keyboard, adorned with buttons, dials, screens and, well, keys, sat looking at me from within the Debra shop under the out of the question price tag of £35.
A hazey dream of reminiscence filtered into my mind. Back in the day, (cue Dvorak's Hovis music), during the High school years I always toyed with the idea of learning keyboard and piano. At the time, most of my mates could play some kind of instrument, to some kind of extent and were keen to form a band, of some kind. Colin sang and swung his guitar, whilst Nocker strummed and Bungle battered the drums.
The keyboard appealed to me. It made cool noises and played beats for you that you didn't have to spend hours making up yourself. I'd always thought it'd be quite cool to learn piano too. Stevie Wonder, Elton John, Barry Manilow, Rowlf the Dog, they'd all mastered the art before me. If a blind guy, a rocket with glasses, a grinning mannequin and a dog could do it, so could I.
Of course, I never did. Colin managed to teach me one song on the bass but that was about as far as my contribution to music went. I'm far better off merely listening.
Anyway, after seriously considering the prospects of buying the Yamaha for around five seconds I decided against it. I realised that if I brought that massive keyboard home to my one bedroom flat, Ka would probably take it and batter me over the head with it. The last thing she needs at the moment is me setting up a Yamaha in the middle of the living room, switching off all the lights, standing in my tie and going all Kraftwerk on her.
It's more like Kraft Foods in our house, the amount of cheese on crackers we're putting away. Great to have in the house for guests but not so great when your looking for nibbles whilst watching the telly. The calories I'm piling on must be immense!
Yes, the passing of Baby Lucy has left the two of us feeling at a loss and looking for more meaningful things to do to keep our minds busy, but I doubt bringing home a second hand Yamaha keyboard is an answer.
A break somewhere would be more worthwhile, probably not a trip to Africa though.

Filling in

Went to the dentist yesterday to get another filling. Not because of tooth decay I must point out but because of receding gums. Receding gums...as if a receding hairline wasn't enough?! Also it was as if the dentist knew I had just hit the afore mentioned age last week she went on to explain that receding gums are a natural part of your gums and mouth aging and getting old! Getting old?! I've seen those adverts! All those smiley folk in white shirts going on about their gums and biting into apples are all going into their fifties?! Fifty is not old of course (I'd better point that out quick!) but I'm only 30 for gawds sake?! Then, to make me even more paranoid, when I went out to book another appointment for six months time the waiting room was full of ancient people - some of them with wheels - whom all moved slowly round to watch me approach the desk. It was like Dentist of the Living Dead! I quickly paid my money and left, every yellowed eyeball in the room rolling in their sockets, watching me move for the door. Getting out I realised I could then breath another sigh of relief, the important thing to remember is I survived the dentist once more. Until October...