I’ve had a toothache on and off for a while now but ignored it. Pain schmain really. That’s the name of the grief game. Then it got worse and the dentist prescribed root canal treatment. I got a cancellation appointment for this afternoon. I was fairly practical about the whole gig. Noshed a load of pasta and tried to think what I’d do for the 45 or so minutes it would take. One good outcome of this whole happening is that I’ve ditched a load of worries/concerns. I got some new ones but happy to get shot of dentist fear.
As it was, I thought about LB. And the last time I’d been to the dentist with him. Sitting in the same chair. He loved his dentist. Dan was like a young Indiana Jones. A bit nerdy, enthusiastic, funny and clicked with LB straightaway. (LB had been banished to a ‘special’ dentist after biting his original dentist there when she tried to x-ray his mouth). We smuggled him back in a couple of years later and he was assigned to Dan. From that point, dentist trips were a highlight in LB’s social calendar.
In between appointments “Where’s Dan mum?” was a constant refrain. Often (not sure why) on a Sunday evening. I ended up concocting a bit of a life for Dan to satisfy LB’s questions.
“Where’s Dan mum?”
“Dan? Ooh, I should think at home now…”
“Where does Dan live mum?”
“Mmm.. I think he lives in Boar’s Hill..”
“Does Dan have a girlfriend mum?”
“Has Dan got a car mum?”
“Yeah, I bet he’s got a sporty number.”
“Cos he’s a sporty type of guy.”
And back to the beginning.
Funnily enough, when he was at the dentist, LB was pretty quiet. He did what Dan told him with some gravitas. And a bucket of cool of course.
The unit staff took LB to the dentist last June. They were surprised the receptionist wouldn’t tell them when LB had last been.
Dan had left.
So the story changed. For a couple of weeks.
“Where’s Dan gone mum?”
“Dan? Blimey, he was heading places. I bet he’s set up his own practice somewhere like Harley Street.”
“In London mum?”
“Yes. In London.”
“Where’s Dan mum?”