Gold Tooth in Chiang Mai
The sun sweats down out of an azure sky as i pick up speed down the superhighway on the outskirts of Chiang Mai. The grumbly hire bike looks imposing, but it's front tire is bald, and the oil is as black as it's tank. It burps, and backfires everytime i release the throttle, which smells like burnt peanut butter farts. With my cracked red ray-bans, my newly stencilled leather and a swag of bodgy tattoos i'm in the perfect mood to add to my already dodgy appearance. I have a date with the dentist.
In 200six (f***en dodgy keyboard) Thailand's "medical tourism" industry was projected to take in 3six.4 Million Baht (around 1.2 Million Australian dollars). The rising cost of health care in first world countries, and the ease of international travel is driving this phenomenon, sending medical dollars to dozens of developing countries across the world. Me i just wanted a gold tooth, so i figured that Thailand would be a suitably warm destination.
The clinic stands out from the street by it's shining white tiles - next door is a windy grey construction site, which blows sheets of dirt over the frontage and the footpath. Inside an obnoxious Australian woman is waiting for her husband, while talking to some friends. She speaks to the receptionist in the cheery colonial tones of one addressing an animal or an inferior, pausing between each word and plastering on a painted grin. As is usually the case, most Thai's speak at least some English, while few foreigners (or Farang as we are called here - apparently also a type of vegetable) make the effort to learn Thai.
When the dentist emerges, my heart rate begins to quicken. He is a young man with a nice face, but he doesn't even introduce himself, simply shuffling over and requesting that i open my mouth. We discuss treatment options, and it becomes clear that I will not be getting just a gold cap as i wanted, but a full gold tooth. Or as he eloquently puts it "it like wearing a cap on a motorcycle - it will blow off in the wind. But a full crown is like a helmet, which is strapped under your chin." Well put - i'm sold.
The adrenaline doesn't stop there though, as he lies me down on the chair, and covers my face with a purple cloth leaving a hole for my mouth. I close my eyes and try not to think of Dr. Benway as he starts up the obviously enormous bone saw and begins hacking away to trim down my poor broken tooth in preparation for the crown... (For the background on how i broke my damn tooth in the first place see this entry on the Caravan of Dooom blog: http://caravanofdooom.blogspot.com/2010/11/dirty-old-clown.html)
...
As i return for my second appointment, the cover band across the road is crooning out a red hot chilli peppers number, and i'm glad to slip inside the Dental clinic. The temporary plastic cap is removed with a minimum of effort by Dr. Warut, and as he holds up the bedazzling gold number which is to take it's place, i have a sudden moment of apprehension. What the fuck am i doing? What if i want to go into politics? Can you get jobs with a gold tooth? Will anyone ever trust me again? More importantly how am i supposed to get discounts at street food stalls now that i look like a rich cunt? I try to delay the dentist by asking more questions about the concoction of super-paste that is to hold the crown onto the tooth. He is remarkably efficient, answering them simply and softly, while continuing to go about the job at hand. He fits the crown onto the pre-ground healthy tooth, and then begins making small adjustments with what looks like a hand held buffing wheel, rubbing red paste between my clenched teeth to find where it is too big, or too long.
As he lathers the paste onto my tooth, with a suction tube stuck down to the back of my throat, and a sterilised cotton wad holding up my top lip, he casually begins a conversation with a passing attendant - seemingly something about going home early. I begin to panic - i want to shout "hey! focus back here thank you!", but instead i stay there sweating through the life choice i'm making at the hands of Dr. Warut. It's similar to the feeling of getting a really big tattoo somewhere visible - just before you are about to begin, there's the sudden flash of nerves which come from something so permanent. Which is then followed by the calm resignation once the process has begun - it's too late to go back now. He slides the crown on over the glue and has me bite down hard on a padded tray to fix it in place.
And it's done. I can hardly even look at it. I get up to leave, pay my final account and step back onto the street. The band is still playing the same red hot chilli peppers song. And so i ride back home humming a familiar refrain, not sure whether i'm wiser, prettier or richer for the experience. I guess only time will tell.
Much love,
RUIN
In 200six (f***en dodgy keyboard) Thailand's "medical tourism" industry was projected to take in 3six.4 Million Baht (around 1.2 Million Australian dollars). The rising cost of health care in first world countries, and the ease of international travel is driving this phenomenon, sending medical dollars to dozens of developing countries across the world. Me i just wanted a gold tooth, so i figured that Thailand would be a suitably warm destination.
The clinic stands out from the street by it's shining white tiles - next door is a windy grey construction site, which blows sheets of dirt over the frontage and the footpath. Inside an obnoxious Australian woman is waiting for her husband, while talking to some friends. She speaks to the receptionist in the cheery colonial tones of one addressing an animal or an inferior, pausing between each word and plastering on a painted grin. As is usually the case, most Thai's speak at least some English, while few foreigners (or Farang as we are called here - apparently also a type of vegetable) make the effort to learn Thai.
When the dentist emerges, my heart rate begins to quicken. He is a young man with a nice face, but he doesn't even introduce himself, simply shuffling over and requesting that i open my mouth. We discuss treatment options, and it becomes clear that I will not be getting just a gold cap as i wanted, but a full gold tooth. Or as he eloquently puts it "it like wearing a cap on a motorcycle - it will blow off in the wind. But a full crown is like a helmet, which is strapped under your chin." Well put - i'm sold.
The adrenaline doesn't stop there though, as he lies me down on the chair, and covers my face with a purple cloth leaving a hole for my mouth. I close my eyes and try not to think of Dr. Benway as he starts up the obviously enormous bone saw and begins hacking away to trim down my poor broken tooth in preparation for the crown... (For the background on how i broke my damn tooth in the first place see this entry on the Caravan of Dooom blog: http://caravanofdooom.blogspot.com/2010/11/dirty-old-clown.html)
...
As i return for my second appointment, the cover band across the road is crooning out a red hot chilli peppers number, and i'm glad to slip inside the Dental clinic. The temporary plastic cap is removed with a minimum of effort by Dr. Warut, and as he holds up the bedazzling gold number which is to take it's place, i have a sudden moment of apprehension. What the fuck am i doing? What if i want to go into politics? Can you get jobs with a gold tooth? Will anyone ever trust me again? More importantly how am i supposed to get discounts at street food stalls now that i look like a rich cunt? I try to delay the dentist by asking more questions about the concoction of super-paste that is to hold the crown onto the tooth. He is remarkably efficient, answering them simply and softly, while continuing to go about the job at hand. He fits the crown onto the pre-ground healthy tooth, and then begins making small adjustments with what looks like a hand held buffing wheel, rubbing red paste between my clenched teeth to find where it is too big, or too long.
As he lathers the paste onto my tooth, with a suction tube stuck down to the back of my throat, and a sterilised cotton wad holding up my top lip, he casually begins a conversation with a passing attendant - seemingly something about going home early. I begin to panic - i want to shout "hey! focus back here thank you!", but instead i stay there sweating through the life choice i'm making at the hands of Dr. Warut. It's similar to the feeling of getting a really big tattoo somewhere visible - just before you are about to begin, there's the sudden flash of nerves which come from something so permanent. Which is then followed by the calm resignation once the process has begun - it's too late to go back now. He slides the crown on over the glue and has me bite down hard on a padded tray to fix it in place.
And it's done. I can hardly even look at it. I get up to leave, pay my final account and step back onto the street. The band is still playing the same red hot chilli peppers song. And so i ride back home humming a familiar refrain, not sure whether i'm wiser, prettier or richer for the experience. I guess only time will tell.
Much love,
RUIN
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