Hospitals are bad enough but when you have to visit a dentist in a hospital you know life has reached a new low.
After negotiating a variety of wheezing, coughing and spluttering patients all enjoying a cigarette in the crisp autumn sunshine outside the main entrance we made our way up to the Orthodontic department.
Today I was not the patient. The youngest child needed brand new braces fitted. Top and bottom. He seemed to be very brave. He wasn’t. Tears started welling up as the chirpy consultant tweaked the wires with pliers. And that was that. Ten minutes later I was back out in the waiting room with a sobbing child. Charming.
For me this was 1976 all over again. At the time I had teeth that to put it mildly, ‘protruded’. It was probably going too far to say I could have got an acting role in Watership Down but help was clearly needed.
I wore two braces for two years. Looking back I probably gagged, vomited and slobbered my way through my first day.
Today the journey home was a long long one. The child was not happy. UN type negotiations were needed to salvage the situation. In this case a new DVD did the track. And no it wasn’t Dracula! Ha ha
Four hours have now passed since the fitting. He’s happy and now wondering if the klaxons will go off at airport security when he goes on holiday. Life has returned to normal.