I just ate my tooth.

My tooth hurt so bad.

A few days back I was munching on jackfruit chips, my very favourite when I felt the texture of the chips change to something very powdery and coarse.”No”, “no”, no” I kept repeating in my head before I lifted the tip of my index finger to touch that menace of an upper molar giving me trouble for a month now.(It had ruined my whole vacation this July reminding me of its presence and interfering in every sweet, hot or cold I put into my mouth). Yes, I had just eaten up half of my tooth-grainy, raw and tasted like the white putty of the wall. The metallic filling that embarrassed me all the time even with the tooth intact, was now thrown open. So now if I laughed hard, you could spot the black filling- that had not been faithful enough in protecting the roots that dug into the tooth and that which had been reached by the holds of a further infection.

I hadn’t learnt the lesson right as yet. I still left it open and only altered the way I ate, just enough that when I had to chew, I’d do it with so much of a knack that it wouldn’t hit hard on the exposed filling. I was still doing alright and hadn’t thrown myself into the dreaded chair where I’d have to OOooopen my mouth so wide that the sides almost snapped.

Yesterday,by a grave mistake I surrendered to the piece of chicken at lunch and forgot the right chewing technique.I had eaten the other quarter of the remaining half.Now, this one molar comprised more of the filling and less of white.I would still be shameless and further correct my chewing, if only,if only it did not hurt this bad.

I called up four hospitals, not only to be prey to the best doctor,but to do so at the earliest.In times of a toothache, the dentist is Demi-God.( all of us who have been tortured by an unhealthy tooth knows that just right.)

The earliest appointment was for today.Not that I quite approved, I didn’t have a choice.If you have read Ogden Nash in Class VII, you know it just right.This Is Going To Hurt Just A Little Bit!.

The procedures at the dentist, no Endodontist( apparently a root canal specialist),followed every line of the poem.This is what I understood of whatever she said with a lot of words( like these specialists always use and make it sound immense)-impacted and calcified and implanted and post and core and yes so much.She did say however, she will try her best and save that little point of a thing that remained there, if the roots hadn’t degenerated and gotten calcified.(Oh wow, I understood perfectly). I shouldn’t speculate pulling that piece off as implanting a brand new tooth like thing is a surgical procedure and not recommended at my age.I wouldn’t even feel comfortable tearing on pieces of chicken and mutton with a missing molar.On the tooth model she had in front of her, she drew an ‘n’ number of lines with her blue pen, to show me the route of the roots that ended deep into the tooth, each line, I felt reminding me of my carelessness over the months.All said and done,however, I left with a further four appointments, the wonder dose of Paracetamol and Amoxcillin. I am now at peace.

It is not the appointment or the trauma or the little piece that now remains there ashamed to be called tooth that I think about as I go to bed tonight.I realise how it was so easy for me all this while to be so oblivious to my upper tooth number 6 as I see scribbled on my prescription.I carry to bed a sense of peace( quite obviously for subsided pain but more) because I realise

You know you are blessed if you had a toothache yesterday and have it treated today.

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