Third world problems: Root Canal: Part 1
For the last week or so one of my molars has been getting progressively more painful, not as painful as it got in New Zealand where a dentist quoted me around 2000$ to perform a root canal and fill. At that time it was so painful that when I moved my jaw I was able to see into other dimensions, dimensions full of nothing but pain, suffering, and misery… maybe I was just seeing Detroit…
It had began hurting again and with fresh post traumatic memories of New Zealand I knew I had to go to a dodgy third world dentist and see about getting this taken care of on the cheap, now by cheap I mean around 50$ or so. The ‘dentist’ in question is the cousin of a guy I know from my hotel, which although somewhat dubious at least means if I need to I can find out where he lives. When questioned about his qualification he replied ‘is fine dude, I study in Russia for six years, sometimes even medcin’
When I entered what I generously call the hospital in which his office is located I noticed that the lights were out or flickering and the entire place had sort of a fallout vibe to it, but what normal people take as warning signs I view as ambiance, so onward I went.
After hitting my tooth with a small metal hammer a few dozen times ‘to gauge how much it hurt’ although I told him repeatedly that it hurt a lot, in fact I lack words to explain how much it hurt before he started swinging for the fence with a rusty chisel upon my sore tooth, he proceeded to stick me with a harpoon sized needle attached to an oil drum full of face freezing shit to the point that I was unable to open my mouth without assistance, luckily his former Stasi assistant was more than happy to rend my lower jaw from my face in a manner most similar to curb stomping to allow the ‘dentist’ to then drill into my tooth with a drill powered by a 1830s sewing machine style foot pedal.
After drilling a massive hole in my tooth leading into the nerves themselves he took a series of needle like brushes and rammed them repeatedly into my roots ‘to clean them’ and then sent me on my way, but not before giving me a fistful of drugs.
Needing a coffee, a cigarette, and some therapy I staggered off to find a washroom, it both had and needed this sign although sadly it does not seem to be enforced or obeyed in any way.
I have to go back again today to have the process finished so part two should be up within 24 hours, or never assuming I don’t survive.