10/2/10

My left wisdom tooth began to push through my gum in my mid twenties. It was a bit sore, but not painful enough to get it extracted considering I didn’t have dental insurance and the thought of having this procedure done made me cringe.

Now, in my late twenties, in Japan, the tooth decided to rear its ugly head. About a week ago, I awoke to a throbbing pain. It was so sudden I actually thought I chewed a hole in the side of my cheek during my sleep. Examining my mouth, I noticed the wisdom tooth which had only seemed to be a small speed bump inside my mouth was now a mini mount Fuji.  I waited as long as I could to take motrin, because my inner hippie said it was best to refrain from unnecessary medication. I survived a cracked rib earlier this year, how bad could a little wise guy tooth be?

After a few days, the throbbing pain was too much. I needed constant motrin and a dental appointment. It was time to show the tooth whose boss and get rid of him.

I was able to get an appointment in a week with an English-speaking dentist. My anxiety about seeing a dentist here is a bit higher than it would be in the states not only because I’m in a foreign country and barely able to do anything without having to play a game of charades to communicate, but because the Japanese have the most hideous teeth I’ve ever seen. Don’t even get me started on the breath! Some Japanese have such an amazing collection of crooked, spotted teeth, I almost feel like applauding at the complete neglect that was taken to create such a masterpiece. Then there are the Japanese that have such a pissed off mouth that looks like one tooth is flipping you off with every smile, as if it is saying, “Fuck you and your dental floss!”

I asked my American co-worker, “What’s the story with the Japanese and their mouths? I’m so confused! So many of them look perfect with their sleek, straight-ironed hair and artfully assembled outfits, but when they smile, it takes every ounce of strength for me not to stare. Are the dentists that bad?” He claims, “It’s just not part of the culture to go to the dentist regularly like we do in the states. It’s not as important. The dentists are legit, the people just don’t use them.” Not having any type of medical/dental insurance has kept me from going to the dentist the past 5-6 years, but I still consider myself fairly obsessive about dental hygiene. Now that I have dental, I decided it was priority to take care of my tooth.

I was lucky to have staff that scheduled an appointment for me in the same building I work in. My school is located inside a large department building with everything at my fingertips; a post office, a grocery store, a 100¥ store, my cell phone/internet carrier, and my new dentist.

As I waited in the lobby, I heard the drills and scraping you normally hear at a dentist’s office. My blood pressure began to rise with each piercing sound. I kept imagining how it would feel when the tooth is removed. I worried that our communication barrier would keep him from remembering to numb my gum or confuse him into pulling the wrong tooth. I’m aware these fears are irrational and I’m not actually giving the dentist enough credit for his hard earned education. So I sat and waited, watching the big screen HD television featuring wild birds in some tropical area. This episode happens to show a mother bird feeding her eager hatchlings a plump and healthy beetle. The little chicks stretched out their necks, mouths wide open, as the mother repeatedly jams her beak into the mouths of the babies. It looks painful and reminds me of what I envision my dental experience to be. I imagine myself sitting in the dentist’s chair, with my neck stretched out and my mouth wide open, as the dentist jackhammers the tooth from my gum. As I watch the poor beetle get devoured by the birds, my dentist arrives and invites me into his office.

I walk past four others, getting work done. I can’t see what is being done because their heads face the other way, but each person is lying in a chair, drill in his mouth and only a curtain separating them from the person next to them. My dentist tells me to sit. Immediately, I realize his English is pretty basic. “Oh shit,” I thought, “How will I gesture this?”

He says, “Rinse.” And before I realize it, my chair turns toward the sink and pushes me toward the faucet. After I rinse, my chair returns to its original position, facing Dr. Yamanota. “What’s the problem?” he asks. “Well, I have this tooth…a wisdom tooth,” I point to my jaw, “And it hurts.” He nods. Then he asks, ”Where come from? California?” “No, I’m from Seattle.” “Oh! It’s west like California!” I smile and say yes. “Long way from home!” He remarks. “You have Japanese insurance?” I nod yes. “Okay,” he says, “I look! Chair down.” Then the chair flips me around and I’m suddenly supine with a bright light in my face. I start to laugh thinking how high tech even the dentist’s chairs are. Back home, my dentist has the pump chair that takes ages to lift or lower a patient. “Okay!” He says, “You need X-ray.” So he guides me into a little room and has me put on a jacket and sit in a chair with my chin resting on a small chin holder. Then he tells me to open my mouth and places a thick piece of cotton in between my bite. Dr. Yamanota leaves the room and closes the door. The door has a small window in which I can see his aged almond eyes watch me intently as a big machine rotates around my head. Then he tells me to get up and follow him into the office.

The X-ray shows up on his computer screen and he shows me my mouth, trying to explain in broken English that the tooth will always hurt because my jawbone is in the way. “The tooth can’t develop. In America, you call this tooth 13, 14. We say different in Japan! It’s 1,2! Funny!” And he laughs. I laugh along, not really getting the joke, but seeing he is not as serious as I had thought. “Today, I clean tooth. Okay? Chair down.” Again, the chair spins me around so I’m flat on my back. He drills away whatever buildup I had around mini Fuji. It is slightly painful and I’m confused as to what was happening. The pain isn’t intolerable so I just keep my eyes close and make small noises to remind him I have no anesthesia on my swollen gum. After he applies what looks like iodine, but feels like menthol, he tells me to spit. So I do. Then I ask, “So what do I do? Are you going to pull my tooth? Does it need to be pulled?” Then he says, “I go to Korea this day to this day,” and points to October 19^th-27^th, “But if you have the hopes of giving me your tooth, I take it.  But only if you hope for it.”

“Yes,” I said, “ I do want you to pull my tooth. When can you pull it?” Then he points to November. “Okay,” I say, looking at him, “can I make an appointment with the receptionist?” He smiles and nods. I glance at his teeth. They are not pearly whites, but they are also not glaring at me, spotted and deformed from years of abuse. I tell him thank you and I return to the counter to schedule my appointment for November 13^th at 6:30pm.