Teething pains... seething salivas

Um... ah.. ouch...

 

Woke up in the wee hours - 3.50 to be precise - of yesterday a.m. (not today the 18th) with a pulsing pain in the 2nd upper molar that has been troubling the past month. Shtinging so bloody paining it sent shivers through my body as though my body temperature dropped. 'Sleep with a dog and rise with a bag full of fleas' from Kane came to my mind as I jumped out of my bed, desperately fumbled and found the floor light of my room (as my mind alarmed me that I should not switch the ceiling light on with people sleeping around me) and rifled through my medicine draw, found a flagyl and a zinc (to balance), stuffed water and went back to bed. Not for the next 20 mins the world was paradise to me and the notion of God as the obviator of small and big things held nary a thing. Acute pain. Have you been through? Blood coursing through at Launch blast-off speed and pain pulsing through veins and thumps and throbs of thrummings of your every nerve and fibre feverishly headbanging across the bone-depths. Then... I slipped into oblivion as the numbing took over. Passed out to date Nithra Devi

 

A certain pathological grief took over my dreams as Doctors crouched overhead of me with faces full of showercaps and mouth-masks and white half-sleeves and latex gloves holding various gleaming aluminum plated metal weapons of surgical science held sway... through the close-up of this frame I sensed the distant flicker of a lone phosporescent bulb in the peripheral vision of a blurred long-shot aided by the little hole left between the convergent heads of the savlon army for dentists...

 

6.25 a.m. Woke up to the familiar smell of coffee and Paul Krugmann op-ed and Rohit Brijnath take-over of Nirmal Shekar's rococo excess on Australian Open. Wished the previous wee-hour happenings were a surreal dream. Nope. God was with me. Painful padre that he is, the unforgiving usherer guarding the front of house of the operating theatre with an innocent smile of "Why fear when am here?" or "Bear the Cross with a Smile son" Son of Man grin, this ubiquitous presence with various nom-de-plumes from God to Hindu Names to Communist Manifesto to Agnostic Scientific Rationale to Plain Logic for non-believers, brought about a sense of urgency about the pain.

 

Reminded of the fact by someone passing in my house that the two tablets I took musta bin preceded by some food intake, I turned around to find out who it was and turned around to see my paper was gone - into those hands that belonged to that voice. It was a ruse to distract me to part with my deviation from pain. Thanks Botha, broer, brother. And the general flurry of domestic chores until 9.05 pretended to distract from the acute pain that had by now taken alarming possibilities of rekindling memories of another day when I - like millions of you (wishful thinking) reading this - was subject to the existence of the scalenes and isoceles and right-angles and other trigonometric variants of lines. Yes, the pain was flubbing itself into various angles and shapes with theses and theorems forming in my head. The cause thetas and sign thetas of the adjacents and opposites were having apposite effects on my tanned gums. And the first given moment - 9.25 a.m., rushed to my near-by dentist who had proved my savior the past ten days. Clap... lap... dissolve...

 

Overlap of rushing bikes and whizzing black and brown and sun-film coated windows of cars, an odd bicycle tucked in... Pan through wide-lens zoom... clap to...

 

Couple of lefts and rights, I was parking my bike next to an overflowing Onyx bin hiding a smooth and sober white tile of Jesus in the centre, another of Om sign in the middle and yet another of Sai Baba with a mosque behind him... all next to each other at 3 inch from floor level on a sloped cement and concrete platform prefacing the dentist's clinic.  Rush...

 

Empty little 7 by 5 reception area with a table full of client ref sheets from previous day and 5 chairs gazed down by a shut-off television. The receptionist comes, looks etherially disinterested at my pain...

 

R: Name, sir?
I: Shecon uppa tee... pai... khan shphe...
R: Been here before, sir?
I: shaliva... shpit... whey shink...?
R: (points index finger in the general direction of faucet, smirks with her back to me, vanishes)
I: (notice the othai jadai plait with a shock of snaky 3 hair strand trailing to that butt-ressed part dressed with 3 layers of clothing and several inches above around where the medula oblangata must have been, a single saamandhi poo incongruously reminding of my yellow teeth wincing in pain) Shee... (by now have forgotten the existence of the alphabet t)

 

I rush to the nearest sink and gargle and spit...

 

R comes: "No, you can't wash there"
I: Then (now reasonably relieved to speak) why the hell (total erichchal) can't you put a sign.
R: You must ask me...
I:(incredulous) Excuse me...!
R: Where to wash!
I: Where is your doctor? 
R: (on the defensive) He's gone out
I: (check the watch) is 9.40 a.m. You open at 9!
R: (still defensive) Yes...he came and went saying will be back in 20 mins.
I: (sit there pitifully ignored like Garfield at the influx of Odie)

 

10.05 a.m. Mr. Pain has become blood-relative. Am still sitting, legs unable to kiss the floor, doing raps in the air, ably assisted by his two commanding assistants the shin doctors. By now the whole body is practising gavottes and jigs like the jellicles in Webber's CATs... the innards of my mouth making revolutions such as being triggered by the Chavezes and Morales' and Bachelots in Latin America against Big Botha USA. And somewhere the practice turns into pirouettes of twin-globules exhibited by orange and metallic blue and tangerine pow-pow weaving cheer-leading bimbos with several pairs of globules flashed everytime they swivel around a full circle. Life is turning into a garage session of head-banging teeth-gritting... couldn't finish my thought. Get up, storm out... jump on to my bike (sung to Marley tune)... dissolve

 

streets on fire... (no springsteen here) libero city cruises with no lx... across the potholes of sastri nagar streets to m.g. road. Another Dentist... more protocols (god, they ask you to fill form while you want them to pull out tooth in emergency!). And when I refuse by putting up an extravagant broadway act of abby and emma and pulitzer winning pain-o-drama in mime, they rush me to the guillotine with more cushy objects sorrounding you. Annnnd... the syringe goes following the tong, past the underside of the tongue. There it is... the needle through the gums... It's over... Ouch... prick... ing of the needle only now. A warm feeling of Pink Floyd spreads me with medicinal acid. Can't even french any now. Won't even feel the snaking tongue if any gets in now. And am comfortably numb.

 

"Am giving you L.A. Get a couple more today. It's acute... (thanks doc, for ack.!)"

 

bunga bunga bunga goes my thoughts, unnh...unnh...unnh goes my speech abilities like some bimbo answering someone while being banged on the cold floor by some muscle-rippling bay-watcher inside the wooden cabin up above the sands of glamourised beaches on TV serials.

 

"And you need to house-arrest your speech for 3 more days (wow, i still  can sms!!!). Am putting you on anti-inflammatory (yo, thanks dento-dude-ist, I am gonna blog through and catch up with all my MDRs and Bismilla Shehnai and DVDs.), once you're comfortable, get back, we shall x-ray. May required a surgery. Bones unsettled (he means teeth) in their ranks and files and rows." By now, I thank the dent... start singing Hosannas to my Good King Wenceslas...

 

Pay up!

 

Well, it's twenty four hours... the pain in the teeth is on a continuum (on and off between bouts of metrogels and other gyls)... on a roll... And all I get is a darting blog post to boot.

 

still ill
rsvp asap