image of a dentist surgery

Dentists hold no fear for me. I laugh in the face of pain. That was until I visited the emergency dentist in Larnaca today. I am now a trembling six foot two inch jelly-like object who has had a life-time of not fearing the dentist turned inside out by a visit that lasted all of ten minutes. For those of you with a nervous disposition, read on anyway, and relish in the thought you too may need to pay a visit to the Demon Dentist of Old Larnaca Town.

As I reported before the week-end, I’ve had some pain with what I suspected to be an abscess. Indeed, having lost part of my filling it was apparent that something was not quite right as the pain I’ve experienced over the week-end has been excruciating. Lack of sleep, lots of pain and a wife who keeps saying, ‘try child-birth, that’s real pain’ spurred me on to get this problem sorted out. So, this morning at nine I presented myself to the medical centre in the next village to us. The nice lady told me that the emergency dentist would be in on Tuesday. Tuesday? So I asked if the main hospital had an emergency service. The kind lady told me no, but that the old hospital did and proceeded to draw a map for directions.

Armed with this piece of life saving paper, Jo and I made it to the hospital thirty minutes later. I booked in and the man on reception asked what the problem was.

“It’s an emergency,” I said. “I have an abscess and I am in great pain.”

He smiled and shook his head. “That is not an emergency,” he assured me. And he was correct because it took another eighty minutes and a coffee break before I was seen by anyone.

But my time came and I walked in, full of confidence. The dentist’s surgery was clean and well equipped and his staff were welcoming. The Dentist asked me the problem and I explained. He pushed me back in the seat and motioned for me to open wide. He took his little metal mirror, I assumed to view the back of the tooth, and proceed to tap my teeth, hard. His English wasn’t great, but who needs English when a tap on a tooth illicits the appropriate scream.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered in a somewhat annoyed way.

Mouth still open and eyes watering I lay there as he clicked, clouted and scrabbled with his instruments. I waited for the injection to dull the pain. I waited in vain as he zoomed his drill to full power and proceeded to drill my throbbing tooth.

“Ughm, het urt!” I gurgled.

Nothing! He carried on drilling. Then he filled the hole with concrete, heated the tooth to set it, causing even more pain, and then said, “Okay. Done. Take pills for pain and come back tomorrow if still in pain.”

No bloody fear, I told myself and left as quickly as possible.

Several hours later and several pills later, my tooth is still aching as is my jaw and my pride in being English and able to suck up the pain.

Next time I’m using string attached to a door handle and the offending tooth is coming out!

Tom Kane (c) 2014

As a English expat author living in Cyprus, you may think my life revolves around cocktails by the pool. You would be wrong. In ten years on the island I’ve had my fair share of adventures and interesting experiences.

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