Entry tags:
Goo gracious
Dentist's appointment this lunchtime, to get impressions of my teeth taken so that they can make me a fake tooth to hide that gap in my front teeth. It's years and years since I've had impressions taken, so I wondered if the process had changed at all. It hasn't, really, except that it seemed a bit quicker. Maybe I'm less impatient than I was when I was 9? It seems unlikely.
The process is fairly simple: basically they fill a plastic dental plate with pink goo, whack it on your teeth, and hold it there until the pink goo sets. It's not painful, and the goo is mostly tasteless, but the fact remains that you're sitting there with your mouth wide open and stuffed with something that feels like rather vile-tasting chewing-gum while the dentist leans heavily on your palate.
(Actually, it's not quite like chewing-gum. The consistency of this stuff, when it goes in your mouth, is almost exactly the consistency that Blu-Tak goes when you chew it. DON'T ASK. It sets harder than even the Blu-Tak that you find in the corner of your desk drawer when you leave a job.)
"What's that stuff made of?" I asked, inbetween impressions. (Obviously. If I'd asked while I had the thing in my mouth, it would have come out as "Och ha ush aygov?")
"I'll tell you afterwards," he said, smirking. ... Then he relented. "Nah, okay. It's made of seaweed."
"Oh! Cool," I said. I wondered if he expected more of a reaction.
"Well, you eat it in Chinese restaurants, don't you," said the cheerful dental nurse.
"Yeah, exactly," I said, thinking, actually, that's cabbage, but never mind.
"That's cabbage," said the dentist. The nurse looked amazed.
"You mean it's not real seaweed?"
"Nope. It's cabbage. Check it with [someone] if you don't believe me," he said, and then explained to me that the chap he'd named was one of the other dentists, whose father owned a Chinese restaurant.
There was a long silence which, my mouth being full of dental equipment, I was unable to interrupt. Finally the silence was broken by the dental nurse.
"I always thought it was real seaweed," she said, in aggrieved tones. The dentist laughed at her, and I tried to laugh with him while not seeming to laugh at her, a conceptual comedic contortion which nearly made me sprain a tooth.
In addition to the impressions, they took photos of my teeth. I bared my teeth hungrily at the shiny digital camera (a common reaction) but the only snapping was that of whatever you call the camera's digital analogy (if that isn't too much of an oxymoron) for a shutter. As well as my unaided grimace, they took several photos of my teeth being forcibly bared by a plastic mouth-opening device. Not quite Clockwork Orange stuff, but still a bit gruesome. They also held up lots of FAKE PLASTIC TEETH next to my teeth to try to work out what colour the veneer will have to be, like the toothy equivalent of a Dulux colour-charts. I'll have magnolia with a hint of coffee-stain, please.
As the dentist was writing up his notes at the end, I asked if I could have copies of the photos -- "so I can do a 'before and after' thing on my website." His turn to laugh at me, now, while the nurse looked baffled. "Yeah, okay, it's a bit sad, isn't it," I said. "No, not at all," I expected him to say. "Yeah," he said, grinning.
(He's agreed to give me the photos, though. One of them should be just a full-frame photo of my mouth with a long row of FAKE PLASTIC TEETH underneath it. It would be weird to have that as an LJ icon, right?)
The process is fairly simple: basically they fill a plastic dental plate with pink goo, whack it on your teeth, and hold it there until the pink goo sets. It's not painful, and the goo is mostly tasteless, but the fact remains that you're sitting there with your mouth wide open and stuffed with something that feels like rather vile-tasting chewing-gum while the dentist leans heavily on your palate.
(Actually, it's not quite like chewing-gum. The consistency of this stuff, when it goes in your mouth, is almost exactly the consistency that Blu-Tak goes when you chew it. DON'T ASK. It sets harder than even the Blu-Tak that you find in the corner of your desk drawer when you leave a job.)
"What's that stuff made of?" I asked, inbetween impressions. (Obviously. If I'd asked while I had the thing in my mouth, it would have come out as "Och ha ush aygov?")
"I'll tell you afterwards," he said, smirking. ... Then he relented. "Nah, okay. It's made of seaweed."
"Oh! Cool," I said. I wondered if he expected more of a reaction.
"Well, you eat it in Chinese restaurants, don't you," said the cheerful dental nurse.
"Yeah, exactly," I said, thinking, actually, that's cabbage, but never mind.
"That's cabbage," said the dentist. The nurse looked amazed.
"You mean it's not real seaweed?"
"Nope. It's cabbage. Check it with [someone] if you don't believe me," he said, and then explained to me that the chap he'd named was one of the other dentists, whose father owned a Chinese restaurant.
There was a long silence which, my mouth being full of dental equipment, I was unable to interrupt. Finally the silence was broken by the dental nurse.
"I always thought it was real seaweed," she said, in aggrieved tones. The dentist laughed at her, and I tried to laugh with him while not seeming to laugh at her, a conceptual comedic contortion which nearly made me sprain a tooth.
In addition to the impressions, they took photos of my teeth. I bared my teeth hungrily at the shiny digital camera (a common reaction) but the only snapping was that of whatever you call the camera's digital analogy (if that isn't too much of an oxymoron) for a shutter. As well as my unaided grimace, they took several photos of my teeth being forcibly bared by a plastic mouth-opening device. Not quite Clockwork Orange stuff, but still a bit gruesome. They also held up lots of FAKE PLASTIC TEETH next to my teeth to try to work out what colour the veneer will have to be, like the toothy equivalent of a Dulux colour-charts. I'll have magnolia with a hint of coffee-stain, please.
As the dentist was writing up his notes at the end, I asked if I could have copies of the photos -- "so I can do a 'before and after' thing on my website." His turn to laugh at me, now, while the nurse looked baffled. "Yeah, okay, it's a bit sad, isn't it," I said. "No, not at all," I expected him to say. "Yeah," he said, grinning.
(He's agreed to give me the photos, though. One of them should be just a full-frame photo of my mouth with a long row of FAKE PLASTIC TEETH underneath it. It would be weird to have that as an LJ icon, right?)
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I must say, asking for copies of the pics hadn't occurred to me. I shall be sure to do so :-D
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And we couldn't have that. LJ icons are such a serious medium.
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A long, long time ago I had the gap between my front teeth fixed (they removed a bit of gum which was keeping them separate). That was all fine until I had a root canal on one of them several years later. Even _that_ was fine until a few years back when the one which hadn't had the canal done decided it wanted to move, and now it sticks out and looks daft. I probably should get something done about that except that my dislike of dentists is legendary. If they could knock me out and get the whole thing done at once I'd be happy, but if I have to keep going back and enduring them poking around in my mouth, I honestly don't think I could.
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I am not alone!
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Your dentist sounds cool.
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I think I was thirteen when I had this done, prior to getting a brace in so that my upper front teeth would at some point have a hope in hell of being able to touch my lower front teeth. It worked, which was a relief as the next option up is "break the lower jaw and take a centimetre of bone out, then stick it back together".
The consistency of this stuff, when it goes in your mouth, is almost exactly the consistency that Blu-Tak goes when you chew it. DON'T ASK.
Awwww...
"Oh! Cool," I said. I wondered if he expected more of a reaction.
"Well, you eat it in Chinese restaurants, don't you," said the cheerful dental nurse.
That would be Japanese, no ? Or Welsh.
"Yeah, exactly," I said, thinking, actually, that's cabbage, but never mind.
Can't say I've ever heard of cabbage masquerading as seaweed, though.
(He's agreed to give me the photos, though. One of them should be just a full-frame photo of my mouth with a long row of FAKE PLASTIC TEETH underneath it. It would be weird to have that as an LJ icon, right?)
Yes, but definitely cool weird rather than bad weird.
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The Gums People Play
Weird icons... What would be weirder:
- ...The original idea: a full-frame photo of your mouth with a long row of FAKE PLASTIC TEETH underneath it?
- Your mouth, photoshopped to the width required to accommodate a long row of FAKE PLASTIC TEETH?
- Or a mouth of the correct size and delightful rosebud shape, viewing each and every member of the long row of FAKE PLASTIC TEETH by animated scrolling from left to right?
Of course, I don't rule out the possibility of something even weirder.You can tell I'm busy today. Or drinking far too much coffee.
Re: The Gums People Play
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I'm putty in your, er, mouth
Other things which I have put in my mouth and are thus available for comparison are coins, pencils and semen. Not dishwater, though, or RJ45 cables. I imagine they taste like chicken.
Re: I'm putty in your, er, mouth
Re: I'm putty in your, er, mouth
Re: I'm putty in your, er, mouth
Re: I'm putty in your, er, mouth
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digital analogy for a shutter
Often that'd just be a shutter, but some googling suggests there are digicams without a physical shutter too. Apparently long exposure to bright light can damage the sensors, so you'd have to be a bit more careful with such cameras if you didn't want to damage the sensor (which may well be the most expensive component).
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How do we know that it isn't REALLY seaweed after all, and people just spread VICIOUS LIES about it being cabbage, because, ugh, who'd want to really eat seaweed? Y'know, pretending to, going like "I'm so cool, I'm eating seaweed (ha ha, poor fools, it's really just cabbage, I wouldn't eat slimy seaweed).".
And how would one sprain a tooth, anyway?
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But my dentist had an answer for this. He had this stuff which was like the kind of plastic cheese squares you get in burgers. And then he got out a little bunsen burner. I was most impressed by this. It was about two inches tall, but it was a proper bunsen burner. Then he heated up the cheese stuff so it was flacid and I held that between my teeth. Then after a few minutes it cooled down and set again, with my teeth marks in it.
I thought this was most cool.