Picture by Dylan Swannock (age 7) |
A number of years ago I was
lying mouth agape on a dentist chair, groaning with agony and trembling with
fear. The dentist placed clunky tinted glasses over my eyes, positioned a big
light over my head, picked up his little mirror and bent forward. Suddenly he
jerked upright and took a few steps away from me. My terror sharpened –what the
hell was in my mouth?
There was on my dentist’s face
an expression that was part awe, reverence and uncertainty; an expression not
unlike the golden iconic portraits of saints enduring the passion of martyrdom.
Then the dentists spoke, in a hushed voice: ‘I’ve heard of it, but never thought
I’d see it for my self – a true case of Glasgow Trench. Do you mind if I take a
picture?’
After he snapped a few photos
on his phone, he popped his head out the door and called to his colleagues.
Within minutes the little room was packed with dentists, dental hygienists,
dental assistants, the receptionists, a couple of curious patients, and the
water delivery guy. ‘This man’s mouth, the man in my chair,’ declared the
dentists with pride, ‘is a wonderful example of an incredible phenomenon we
call Glasgow Trench.’
He placed a hand on my
shoulder and continued, ‘It is a condition prevalent, but not unique to, the
city of Glasgow. It begins in childhood. The child eats an indefinably vast
quantity of sugary snacks and drinks, whilst only rarely placing a tooth brush
in his mouth. The child turns into a youth, and the youth into a man, all the
while snacking and slurping sugar packed goodies. Is that not so?’ I nodded in
agreement and gave a thumbs up. It was not the most edifying moment in my life,
but I was happy enough – it’s not every day one discovers they have a condition
so inimitably awful. Beside, I was hoping the exclusiveness of my condition
might get me a discount on my dental bill.
Warming to his theme, the
dental practitioner explained that; ‘The first filling takes place in early
childhood. It is quickly followed by another and another. Eventually, by
adulthood, there is little enamel left to see, the entire mouth is covered with
the dark glint of dental fillings. Behold! This is true Glasgow Trench.’
My mouth was starting to hurt
again, I could feel little needles of pain smarting in my jaw. But the guy in
the white smock ignored my waving hand. ‘The word Trench is most appropriate,’
he continued, ‘as the condition results from the steady chipping, digging,
gauging and drilling of ever deeper holes into the teeth in a vain attempt to
eradicate the plaque that is eating them away. But it is a name that echoes
that other famous Trench, the Mariana Trench deep in the Pacific Ocean.
'Both are
dark and mysterious and subject to immense pressures, which lead to volcanic eruptions in the
one and gum eruptions in the other; rocks slide and shift and crack down in the
watery depths, just as teeth splinter and collapse in the decaying chasm of the
Glasgow Trench. In the Mariana Trench this convulsive energy leads to new life and
creation; in the Glasgow Trench it produces white hot spasms of brain piercing
agony, depression and even in the worst cases death!’
Just on cue I was visited by
one such white hot spasms of brain piercing agony. My audience gasped in
amazement, while I twitched like a frog on a frying pan and the dentist nodded
gravely. ‘Leave me now,’ he asked his audience, ‘so that I may attend to this
poor unfortunate.’
* * *
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For more about Rab’s work as a blogger, author, tutor and performer see rabfultonstories
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