"How is it out?"
"They're dropping like flies out there."
"Who are?"
"The bluebottles. Everywhere. Spinning in a death buzz and just dying".
We're having a heatwave. A tropical heatwave. It's hardly surprising. the temperature's rising.She certainly can can-can.
"Forty degrees. Again."
I've been meaning to fix the two slow punctures we've got. They can wait. Mañana.
The early mornings are beautiful and tranquil. Birds flit from tree to tree. The sun is warm but the morning air remains fresh and cool. By 9 o'clock it's warmed up and the sun is too hot to sit in comfortably. By mid-afternoon our little concrete casita is getting hot. Thank goodness for air-conditioning. We try and get our chores done in the mornings. When I say 'chores' I am essentially thinking of anything that does not involve lying down. My only afternoon chore is cooking dinner - this is often the highlight of my day, if not Gayle's.
On a Wednesday evening I hear a stone drop onto my plate. At least that is the sound. We're eating dhal so at first I assume it's a stone that got mixed up in the lentils. But then a cursory check around my mouth with my tongue reveals a gaping hole in my largest molar. The filling has dropped out. The tooth had already cracked about three years ago. But what a time to let me down. The remaining shell feels loose. I probe it again and again with my tongue. There's no pain - I'd had root canal work done on this tooth in Iran in 2014. Maybe....
"Gayle, have you got any strong sewing thread?"
"No, why?"
"Oh nothing. Just thinking........"
After a couple of days the tooth has got looser and the hole is bothering me. What if it gets infected? I find my pliers wrench from the toolkit and thrust them at Gayle.
"What do you want me to do?" she looks alarmed.
"Do you want to try pulling it?"
"No I don't!!"
Gayle texts our friend Tuly to ask if she knows of any dentist that might be open. We think it's unlikely during the 'emergency' but Tuly replies almost immediately to say she will ask a friend who has a dental clinic. Things move rapidly with a bit of back and forth, questions and answers, ending with an appointment that afternoon at 2. The dentist had asked for a photo of the damaged tooth.
The clinic looks shut and the front door is locked, but a masked man opens it for me. He asks me if I understand Spanish and I say yes. He says something else and I don't respond. What did he ask me? We are both wearing masks. The man switches to English and introduces himself as Lester. He will be extracting my tooth. He takes me into the surgery which is set up and ready for me. I notice the table of instruments looks rather crowded. The metalwork is covered modestly with a cloth. Lester has a full face visor as well as gloves and a face mask. He looks nervous which I put down to the anxiety caused by the corona virus. I have already answered all the health-check questions with 'no'. No cough, no fever, no recent illness or fatigue. But who's to know? And what about Lester? I don't ask him how he's been feeling lately. He is after all about to do me a favour.
Lester begins by giving me some numbing anaesthetic. When I can no longer feel my tongue tip he gives my damaged tooth a good old poke to see if I can feel anything. No, nada, I tell him. And then he reaches for the tools. Oh, and what tools. Something that looks like a metal punch but which screws into the broken tooth. Then after a few of those, something that looks like it could remove wheel nuts from a carwheel. Occasionally I espy a bloodied chip in his hand as he lays it on a paper towel. My tooth is coming out in bits. Lester explains it is fractured and he can see no sign of infection. Then he goes to a cupboard behind me and rummages around. He can't find what he's looking for and he appears to be sweating profusely now. Up to this point I am fairly relaxed. But in between bouts of jabbing and poking, Lester keeps going back to rummage in the cupboard. I begin to fret. Finally he finds a colleague who can supply him with the tool he needs. "A twenty-three" he says, handing Lester something that looks like you could jack a car up with. It does the trick - Lester finally extracts the two roots. He holds the last one up proudly. I almost faint. Do I want the tooth bits? All I can see is a gory mess on a paper towel. No!
Painkillers and ice. Five days' rest. Do nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I had so much planned..............
"You can still cook the dinner, can't you?" Gayle asks when I get home.
"Yes, no problem, but the laundry and the cleaning will have to wait." I say as I lie down. I can't see Gayle but I hear her laugh.
"They're dropping like flies out there."
"Who are?"
"The bluebottles. Everywhere. Spinning in a death buzz and just dying".
We're having a heatwave. A tropical heatwave. It's hardly surprising. the temperature's rising.
"Forty degrees. Again."
I've been meaning to fix the two slow punctures we've got. They can wait. Mañana.
 |
| apparently play is important in these situations. I didn't actually get around to buying the game..... |
The early mornings are beautiful and tranquil. Birds flit from tree to tree. The sun is warm but the morning air remains fresh and cool. By 9 o'clock it's warmed up and the sun is too hot to sit in comfortably. By mid-afternoon our little concrete casita is getting hot. Thank goodness for air-conditioning. We try and get our chores done in the mornings. When I say 'chores' I am essentially thinking of anything that does not involve lying down. My only afternoon chore is cooking dinner - this is often the highlight of my day, if not Gayle's.
 |
| finally got round to using up the flour we bought |
On a Wednesday evening I hear a stone drop onto my plate. At least that is the sound. We're eating dhal so at first I assume it's a stone that got mixed up in the lentils. But then a cursory check around my mouth with my tongue reveals a gaping hole in my largest molar. The filling has dropped out. The tooth had already cracked about three years ago. But what a time to let me down. The remaining shell feels loose. I probe it again and again with my tongue. There's no pain - I'd had root canal work done on this tooth in Iran in 2014. Maybe....
"Gayle, have you got any strong sewing thread?"
"No, why?"
"Oh nothing. Just thinking........"
 |
| imagine the size of the hole |
"What do you want me to do?" she looks alarmed.
"Do you want to try pulling it?"
"No I don't!!"
Gayle texts our friend Tuly to ask if she knows of any dentist that might be open. We think it's unlikely during the 'emergency' but Tuly replies almost immediately to say she will ask a friend who has a dental clinic. Things move rapidly with a bit of back and forth, questions and answers, ending with an appointment that afternoon at 2. The dentist had asked for a photo of the damaged tooth.
The clinic looks shut and the front door is locked, but a masked man opens it for me. He asks me if I understand Spanish and I say yes. He says something else and I don't respond. What did he ask me? We are both wearing masks. The man switches to English and introduces himself as Lester. He will be extracting my tooth. He takes me into the surgery which is set up and ready for me. I notice the table of instruments looks rather crowded. The metalwork is covered modestly with a cloth. Lester has a full face visor as well as gloves and a face mask. He looks nervous which I put down to the anxiety caused by the corona virus. I have already answered all the health-check questions with 'no'. No cough, no fever, no recent illness or fatigue. But who's to know? And what about Lester? I don't ask him how he's been feeling lately. He is after all about to do me a favour.
Lester begins by giving me some numbing anaesthetic. When I can no longer feel my tongue tip he gives my damaged tooth a good old poke to see if I can feel anything. No, nada, I tell him. And then he reaches for the tools. Oh, and what tools. Something that looks like a metal punch but which screws into the broken tooth. Then after a few of those, something that looks like it could remove wheel nuts from a carwheel. Occasionally I espy a bloodied chip in his hand as he lays it on a paper towel. My tooth is coming out in bits. Lester explains it is fractured and he can see no sign of infection. Then he goes to a cupboard behind me and rummages around. He can't find what he's looking for and he appears to be sweating profusely now. Up to this point I am fairly relaxed. But in between bouts of jabbing and poking, Lester keeps going back to rummage in the cupboard. I begin to fret. Finally he finds a colleague who can supply him with the tool he needs. "A twenty-three" he says, handing Lester something that looks like you could jack a car up with. It does the trick - Lester finally extracts the two roots. He holds the last one up proudly. I almost faint. Do I want the tooth bits? All I can see is a gory mess on a paper towel. No!
Painkillers and ice. Five days' rest. Do nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I had so much planned..............
"You can still cook the dinner, can't you?" Gayle asks when I get home.
"Yes, no problem, but the laundry and the cleaning will have to wait." I say as I lie down. I can't see Gayle but I hear her laugh.
 |
| now then, where was I? |
