Paying through the teeth

I’m in agony.

I’m in agony. Toothache. Upper left molar. The pain is shooting up the side of my face and stabbing through my left eye socket. On the plus side, the world is suddenly less complex. My idea of future happiness has been reduced to nothing more ambitious than a pain-free existence. No longer has it anything to do with ameliorating the suffering of others. If a genie made me choose right now between his making the pain go away and making poverty history, I’d probably have to think about it.Â

Two years ago I went to the dentist for the first time in years. She was appalled; I had galloping gum disease, she said. To cure it was going to take time and effort and cost a considerable amount of money, she said. I was going to have to spend more time in future brushing my teeth. I was also going to have to learn how to floss. And I was going to have to try to stop smoking and change my diet.Â

How much money exactly? I said. She named a figure which, if I’d submitted it as a closed bid, would have secured the 2012 Olympic games for our village. It might sound a lot of money, she said, but it would be worth it. For, if I neglected my teeth any longer, I was looking at an early death from a coronary brought on by galloping gum disease. It was a straight choice, she said, so which was it to be?Â

I meekly chose life and got my chequebook out. For nine months I was in the dentist’s chair so often and for such long periods that she suggested I brought in my own CDs to listen to.