Last Tuesday a toffee eclair plucked my tooth clear away from my gum. A terrifying tongue sweep followed. It felt awful hollow in my mouth. As I attempted to retrieve the extraction from the toffee I struggled to remember if I’d had a real tooth, a root filling or a crown. I took the tooth to the dentist where she made an identification. It is a crown and she may be able to do a make-do and mend job on it.  Cheaper than being fitted for a new crown. That was an expensive eclair. Obviously I swore off all toffees for the rest of my teeth-bearing days.

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A day or two before the unlucky chew I’d committed to a paint job on our hallway and upstairs landing. The painter has his work cut out for him – a 1912 early Edwardian house that’s been neglected along the way, the walls and skirting need repairing, rendering, cementing, painting and glossing. Yesterday as I sat in the dentist’s chair, mouth ajar and eyes shut  I caught snatches of conversation between the dental nurse and my dentist. My root was flushed out and drilled, the tooth was polished. The nurse was instructed to make cement.  I was shown the metal posts that would be screwed into the tooth to link it with my gum.  I felt an affinity with my home. Relics, both.

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4 Replies to “Reparation”

  1. Oh lord, I all but screamed when I read your opening sentence. I swore off toffees after a similar incident and reading this brought it all back. Just so you know how effective that first sentence was …

    1. Thought I’d posted a reply. Yes, Di, dentist said she hears the toffee story all the time. My 80 year old aunt said no one over 30 should be eating toffees -I’m with her on this. Learnt the hard way.

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