Succumbing to the lure of dental tourism

I’m starting to realise that I’ve never been particularly vain;  I’ve always prioritised being healthy and in (relatively) good shape, rather than wanting to look 20 years younger than I am.

This approach to life, which I can only attribute to serendipity rather than wisdom, must have saved me shedloads of cash and endless trauma over the years – as I discovered last week, when I gave in to a moment of vanity.

My new dentist, Dr Chew, had a special offer on a super-duper teeth-whitening procedure, and he showed me the brochure with its tempting photos –

It was so much cheaper than it would be in the UK that I decided to go ahead and have it done.

The first indignity was having to wear a mouth guard that made me look as though I had a blue beak.

Just as well I’m not vain.

Then I got the Santa Claus beard look –

and finally the shades –

Then my teeth were covered in foaming white bleaching solution, which made me look as though I’d got rabies –

And finally, I settled back to wait for the magic to work, with a futuristic blue light fixed to my duck’s bill.

At first it was very boring, lying there completely still, but then my teeth started to complain.  It was the sort of pain you get if you bite on a piece of silver foil with a filling in your tooth – unpredictable, sudden and very painful.  I sat there tensed up, and either jumping with sudden pain, or wondering where the next twang was going to hit.

Finally the torture was over and Dr Chew was delighted with the results

But I spent the rest of the day twitching and whimpering as the tooth agonies continued, and had to spend 48 hours eating pale-coloured food only, and no coffee … yet more torture.

So, in short, I paid for 48 hours of torture and deprivation – but never again.

I plan to start a new trend …

 

… black is the new white.  Another glass of red wine, anyone?

 

 

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