Second Death of the Wisdom Tooth
 
(Nic, this one's for you..)
 
 
This rather nasty experience happened about 2mths ago, but I still remember it well.
By the time my top right wisdom tooth had shattered away down to the gum, I was in a fair bit of pain. The day before I had my 'procedure', I did not eat, did not sleep, did not drink. Actually I did nothing much except cry like a little baby and scream into my pillow every 15 minutes.
So, the next day I met Wendy at the horse (the place to meet),and we scoured the whole damn city for dental surgeons. After five hours walking from place to place in a semi-unconscious daze, we were no closer to finding anywhere that could help. Either the doctors were out playing a round of golf or off sick that day, or said "Come back tomorrow and we will try for you.." Or, "You should really go to the emergency hospital in your condition." Great. We took their advice. Unfortunately, all the emergency dental rooms were already jam-packed with dozens of poor Czech's clutching their mouths - stoically waiting in line all the way down the stuffy hospital coridoor for their turn on the chair. It was an incredibly depressing and disheartening sight. What now?! I was ready to become unconscious.
In a last ditch effort Wendy dragged me back towards my house, set with orders to knock me out with the frozen chicken in the freezer. Luckily, just around the corner from my place, we spied a small, family run dental surgery, possibly working out of an adjoining convenience store/butchers. Fevered desperation ruled out, so Wendy buzzed the door and explained that she had a rather shoddy feeling New Zealander slathering on his doorstep. After a moment's silence the door buzzed, I fell inside and the next thing I knew, I was being escorted by a nurse into a chair. The dental surgeon shook my hand and asked me some rudimentary questions in basic German/English/Czech. I gestured casually to my bit of tooth. "Ahhh," he said, "Do you have 2000 crowns?"
"Yesh," I said.
"That is a good thing. I can help you."
"Thanksh..*#%$#."
With the formalities out of the way, I was 'suited up' in a very fetching off-white bib and elevated backwards - lights, scalpel...ACTION!
The procedure lasted approximately 15-20 minutes. One second before he began working his skilled hand in my mouth, I asked him what exactly he was going to do. Take out the nerve? Pull out the tooth? Put some cement in? Remove my kidneys? The only answer I got before cutting commenced was,
"You will be good man now." 
O.K...
So he starts cutting away at my gums rather haphazardly - rather like how you slice into veges when making a nice mixed salad. I was slightly suprised, but in no position to complain. Then he starts shoving the knife up my gums into my jaw bone and chipping and levering bits of the root of the tooth with all his might. This is when I began to protest in the only way i could. Something like, (loose quote): YAHHAAHAARRRRRGGHHHHHHGGGGHHH!@#^(*$+*%#!!!! -colourful language indeed..
"You have the feel of pain?" he asked serenely.
"Hell yes, motherfucker," I responded between blood spits.
"Do not worry you, more knife and I finish you."
This, dear readers as you can imagine, reassured me no end..
I closed my eyes, and he stuck the scalpel back up into my head. This time even more pressure and pain cranked in. "This is difficult," I heard him say to himself. By this time my head was almost pushed over to his sweaty left underarm, and with the last scoop, I thought he was really digging for my brain. Bits of tooth were still being chipped off. He was not getting it and I was just beginning to get a bit bored. Then, hey presto, he decided to bring in the big guns and grabbed for some pliers. The bloody scalpel clattered to the steel tray - failed and spent. One (maybe two, I don't know) epic tugs and "schluck!" - the root wrenched out - a little molar Alien, all bloody and glistening. 
"That was good yes?!" he smiled eagerly, showing me the root proudly.
"Mwfg," said I.
Then he took some gauze, shoved it up the tattered gaping red hole, told me to bite on it, took off his gloves, then asked me for the cash. Oh yes, he also gave me some important medical advice: "No drink alcohol or smoke tonight, no?" Sharp as his scalpel this one..
I dutifully paid the fee, shook his hand, collected a pale-looking Wendy, who had been outside listening to my pathetic screams, and made for the door.
Apparently, I have a small cavity in one of my teeth that he found after the excision. He told me to come back and he would happily fix it. Hmm.