Dentist, Wisdom Teeth, and the English

Stick with this. It gets better.

Dentists and Men
I don't know why it is that men hate going to the doctor or the dentist. Maybe someone with more psychobabble than me can answer that, but I'm one of them, and barely grown out of the childish phase of being nagged to make an appointment, dragged to the appointment and feeling like I should have month of sweeities as a treat for going at all.

Well, a second language does nothing to make these prospects easier. The specific prospect in question was having my wisdom teeth removed.

Wisdom
Why didn't you have them out at 18, I keep being asked, like everyone else we know? Which brings up an issue I thought I'd buried but turns out I'm still quite touchy about, so I reply, tetchily, a la Kevin the Teenager.

- Because I didn't have any wisdom teeth at 18, ok? I looked about 12 with voice to match. Happy now?

The Saga
So begins the saga to remove my four wisdom teeth: mis quatros muellos de huisio.

Appointment 1: Getting to Base Camp
Right side, top and bottom, dos muellos, assured that it wouldn't be too painful.

I sit down, meet the odontologo, who spots my foreignness. Standard ice breaker begins:
- Where you from?
- Scotland.
- Ah, you're not from England?
- No, I smile, nada que ver.
- Ah... he says to himself... not from England... still muttering... from Scotland. In that case, we can use an anesthetic.

Good line. Wasn't painful, sounded horrific, out in 10 mins, job done.

Appontment 2: A Day Hike. 2 weeks later.
As above, left hand side, top, one, 5 mins, easy peasy. What's all the fuss? Men are weak.

Appointment 3: Everest. 3 weeks later.
Tooth 4, known to me as Hidden Everest, was a trickier business. An impeached molar, reluctantly within the gum, rotated 90 degrees as if it had turned towards the cheeky, and decided it was going to leave my gob sideways, not up, like everyone else's wisdom teeth.

After Appointment 2, I'd been told I had to go and buy Celestone and that I was to apply it myself one hour before my 6pm appointment.

So, at 5pm I headed to the farmacia, asked for Celestone.
Fine, they said. Do you want to have us apply that here?
No thanks, I said. And added, proudly. I am going to apply it myself.
The look on the woman's face was somewhere between bemused and plain old amused. It also said, You do not know what celestone is, do you, foreign boy?

Rather than reply, she opened the box, removed the celestone from its packaging and placed on the counter a syringe with an inch long needle.

- So, she said, are you really going to stick this in your own ass?

It's hard to describe how many people in the queue hit the floor laughing, or how hard they laughed.


- Is there... someone... here that could 'apply'... that? Foreign boy replies, sheepishly.
- I'll call the nurse.

It turns out I had misunderstood the meaning of you need to apply it yourself before the appointment. This did not mean I had to apply it so much as I need to 'get it done'.
Had the verb INJECT ever come up, that would have solved a lot of confusion.

So, a sore ass full of celestone, a taxi ride to the odontologia, an hour and twenty minutes of wrenching around in mi boca, and I am finally the appropriate number of wisdoms short of a full mouth of teeth.

Enough.

Gripe: Update

As predicted, a further twist in the tale: my previously smug fellow teachers wandered happily into work, feeling refreshed after an impromptu two week mid term break - fresh from the golf course, shopping, mini breaks to Brazil - to be hit with the following, from the al powerful Ministry of Eduction via the management:

Two things, gente.

1. Your week long September half term is cancelled. Lessons will continue as normal.

2. The three week Winter break in now two weeks.

Thank you, that will be all.

The Management.

La Gripe Porcina, and teacher holidays, and U-Turns

La Gripe Procina is all the rage here at the moment, more in staff room conversations than any real threat, it would seem. A child cannot sneeze without a muttering being heard in the staff room that the ministerio will shut us down within the hour.

The minisetrio's policy is to shut down any school for 2 weeks where there is a case of H1N1, leading me to introduce the kids to the concept of "taking one for the team". Few takes, so far.  

And, being teachers, and rather used to taking a holiday, it hasn't taken long before a 'snowed in' sense of excitement has been replaced by a bitter a sense of entitlement. Why are we still taching? It's dangerous? Would someone please think of the lie ins... sorry... the children?

So here is my take on the rising witch hunt of hysteria regarding la gripe argentina.   

 

Level 1: Sombreros. People in Mexico falling ill of la gripe. Sombreros banned from la cuidad. Mexican officials get annoyed that Argies close airports to Mexicans, taunting them with the yellow fever problems in Argentina. A Yeah, well your mum's got the pox level of political maturity.  

 

Level 2: No kissing! First case finds its way to Argentina. Initial panic, people stay home. Pamphlet handed out to all citizens stating that people should "not kiss, nor share a straw when drinking mate, nor touch each other less than necessary". About as likely to work as a 'drink in moderation' initiative in Glasgow.

 

Level 3: Panic. Panic passes after weeks of inactivity, before cases start to spread in the capital. Who's laughing now? says Mexico. Schools in Mexico cancelled - a dream is born. 

 

Level 4: The 'Del Po' Factor. Talk of closing public places for 72 hours. Alcoholic gel distributed to all teachers. Students asked to clear their lockers, just in case… Witch hunt begins, every sneeze and cough leading to accusations of spreading the disease! Es una chancha! 

 

Edict from the government: if your school has a reported case of InfluenzaAH1N1, then you will be closed with immediate effect for two weeks.

 

We are standing on the steps of greatness, people. Yes, we don't want anyone to be ill. Yes, we all want two weeks off. Yes, these desires can be compatible. How? It's Argentina – fake something!

 

So it's all fun and games and la gripe moves from being a genuine threat to the best excuse for a couple of sick days since la gripe español. Furthermore, students are told that they cannot return to school until they have a signed official doctor's note.

 

Attendance drops to about 50% - of which a 5% are in any way ill. Del Potro's progress at Roland Garros (screened 9am – 3pm here) in no way helps the numbers.   

Level 5: Jealousy. School that we have heard of close! Lincoln, St Andrew's, Northlands… they're dropping like flies. Could be any minute now! As I write, I feel very much like my school is very much in the eye of the storm. Schools around us – at least, compatible privados - are closing left right and center and, with every smug text message I receive from a fellow teacher at an ailing school, texting from the golf course or in the pub, so my sense of injustice rises.

 

Level 6: U-turn. Government announces that schools that close must either catch up the time this July or at the end of the school year.

Stick that Northlands! How do you like me now, San Andreas?

 

Schools now panic plan and rapidly re-adjust to email enough work home so as not to be brought back in December, but not so much that they have to get up before 10am. You see, when they need to, they can be efficient.

 

Will update you on any changes.