dentist

Going to the Dentist

~ Kate Wilson ~ 2 Comments

A visit to the hairdresser in another country can be daunting but what about the dentist?

I’ve had several experiences here with different dentists and all have been fine. Some have even been  pleasant!  I remember one in Barcelona telling me that in the sixties and seventies there were hardly any British dentists at the main conferences – dentistry was mostly NHS and this didn’t pay for extra training.  We were chatting about the British mouth from the 50’s and 60’s – full of fillings!

Today was our first full day at Sant Nicolau. We went shopping and walked in the woods and just as we got cosy for the evening I made the mistake of eating a bar of Topic, and halfway through felt that dreaded crunch which was not one of the nuts.  A moment of panic, then a gentle exploration revealed an enormous gap where last week I had felt something distinctly wiggly.

Helen gave me the number of a dentist in Figueres and after a quick phone call I left Bonnie behind in the cottage and set off at 5pm for an emergency appointment. By half past six I was back home with it all sorted out.
The cost?  It was 50 euros for a large and permanent filling.  Not bad is it?  They didn’t make me have an x-ray or charge me extra for not being a permanent patient.

The dentist was a young guy with strangely comforting garlic breath. His assistant chatted to him all the way through, leaving me to my dreams. Stories about her brother in law and problems with the car.  I sat, mouth agape, pressing madly on the acupuncture point on my hand for dental work. What I usually do is try to relax the muscles in my stomach and my neck and slip away into a parallel world.  I could hear them laughing and joking as if it was on the radio. Sometimes he would pause with his thumb lodged in my mouth and utter exclamations like ‘Collons!’
Occasionally I surfaced when I realised he was talking to me.
‘Obrir’ ‘Tancar’  ‘Giri el cap’.   ‘Mes ampli si us plau‘ Nothing too challenging to understand.

There is something ancient about the dentists chair. However much things have improved from the days of being held down and having your teeth yanked with only the help of a bottle of brandy, it still has that unpleasant feeling of being totally out of control and unable to communicate.
You are at their mercy.
Drills rattle, water splashes, metal things are tightened around teeth, soft rubbery things are lodged inside your gums, and that pipe is jiggled around inside your mouth which is supposed to keep you dry but often seems to have sprung a leak and jets cold water all over your face.

I never know exactly what is going on and I would hate to have to see it in a mirror.
There are dentists who want you to look inside and see the work. Something similar to the hairdresser who insists that you put on your glasses and make oh-ing and ah-ing noises at the end of a haircut.
Who wants to see the inside of their mouth or all around their head under a bright light and in public?

All we want to do is get through it, pay up at the front desk and run.

Back home and it feels like a dream already. There are two more bars of Topic in the fridge but I will wait for tomorrow.

If you want a dentist in Figueres they are called Clínica Dental Figueres and they are right next door to the vets on Avinguda Salvador Dali.  They were incredibly friendly and efficient.

 

Independence and other things to do

~ Kate Wilson ~ 1 Comment

I want to write about Catalunya and independence but I keep getting distracted.

Perhaps it is because I don’t feel I know enough yet.  I listen and strain to understand the news in Catalan, I hear conversations around the table and try to get a better grip on what people are thinking and saying. I buy newspapers and spend an hour or two slowly translating for myself and hoping I am not missing something important.

There are lots of flags still hanging from windows and so far, everyone I have spoken to is pro independence.  Almost everyone went on the demonstration in Barcelona on September 11th.
People are talking about it.

It feels like an exciting and important time and I will write about it – soon!
I wish my language skills were better – it’s so frustrating to know there is something going on and yet not be able to really really understand the details.

Meanwhile ….life continues in Granollers.
Today I went to the dentist – a visit to the hygienist cost 20 euros.

The sun shone on the Porxada and some people were still wearing shorts

I unpacked some more sculpture tools and created some stone dust

Ah the smell of wax crayons! I always have to bury my head in them and breath in.

Going to the dentist in Granollers

~ Kate Wilson ~ 2 Comments

I finally got round to going to the dentist here. Funny how you put these things off when it all feels unfamiliar. But a crack in a crown forced me to phone up and I didn’t allow myself to speak English, only asking the receptionist to please speak slowly.  Unusually she responded in beautiful clear and slow Catalan.  This is not my normal experience as for some reason most people ignore my request for slow and only speak louder and, perhaps nervously, faster.
I had two appointments so was able to take full advantage of the incredible views over the Porxada

There were lovely bird drawing in the waiting room, done by the dentist himself, Snr Costa

These relaxed me before going ahead with the filling. Yes, a new filling as it turned out the crack was not a problem but the cavity next door needed seeing to.  They took out an ancient amalgam filling and replaced with the more healthy white kind.

It’s embarrassing seeing a dentist here – I feel I have to apologise for a ‘British’ mouth.  Apparently we are famous for having been subject to drill and fill, especially in the 1960’s which is when I used to go and see an enthusiastic but not highly skilled Mr Terrace.  I remember the sound of the drill, the flecks of dandruff on the top of his head which I focused on to distract myself from the pain. I’m not sure there were injections in those days, can that be true?
Sitting in the dentist chair must be one of the most intense and private experiences we have in public. You can’t speak, your mouth is open at the least attractive angle, a strong light is focussed on your face and there is no escape.  You are forced back inside yourself to seek comfort in whatever way you can.  I usually try to levitate to another astral plane.
But today I needed to keep some attention in the room.  He was speaking to me.

Surely this needs no translation?
Obri, una mica més. Ara tanqui…tanqui…..TANQUI……gràcies…..ara obri….més…més…més….molt bé.