Second last dental session! I am gleeful and actually eager to go back. Not so much the 'finishing up goddamn!!!' business but more of the 'wow, this temporary crown is huge, like an acrylic elephant cemented upon my leper of a tooth.' Today's soundtrack was The Whitlams and my tooth was - as expected after I researched about it - ground down with guess what A DRILL. It's supposed to be shaped like this: /\/\ but ended up being kinda more (\/\. My tongue was very eager to get away from burrs - the lady with the vacuum-tongue-holder-finangle found it very cooperative. I was bleeding slightly today because of all the sanding goin' down and my gum worn away for the crown, but I am manly and I did not notice until I was told to rinse.

The moulding was tragic. She applied some caulk-like release substance and pressed down a putrid yellow putty onto my teeth, dislodging it with impressive might later when it set. She aggressively slid on another bridge of putty onto my upper teeth that was green with a menthol flava. And then she got some of the mould on me lower lip, and asked for some mystifying 'Vaslean on gauze.' It was only when I saw her assistant clearly that I found out it was Vaseline, of which from youth I have pronounced as Vhas-Sel-Lean and I'm fairly sure that everyone must pronounce it differently now. So now I have some aggressively sticky remnants of cement on my lip, and a massive blotch of temporary acrylic affixed rudimentarily to my tooth.

And yes birthday post will be forthcoming, I just had to get this down. 8D

Also, just so some people who will probably stop by sometime and wonder why they haven't heard from me via their mass-message sending: if you were, at any point of time, a good hobby-unrelated RL-acquainted friend of mine, so much so that I wrangled time out for you during my college term of which I am always dead to mankind just to meet you for a couple of hours, only to have you skip out on me in the very last minute without so much as a tone of regret just because you wanted to continue chatting with someone else or be completely AWOL even after SMSes and calls - please don't expect me to flip the 'hullo friend' switch on again like nothing happened. I usually don't harp on grudges forever, but I'm going to be resentful for a good long time.

Today was the…4th last step in completing my troublesome tooth saga, of which I never really detailed the agony of realisation and forced action. I'm not quite sure it's something I want to remember too much of, but it's all part of the pitfalls and gaping holes of life, and since I have cement in my mouth now just like how potholes on the street have cement dashed into them and subsequently foot-printed, I may as well.

I do not possess an irrational fear of dentists. For one, I do not fear them, I am merely wary of them and their very high prices. For two, it's very rational. One of the dominant images from my childhood - a veritable video of my childhood, if I may, if a Blair Witch-type [that's all Cloverfield for you young'uns of course] perspective except a lot more sterile, monotonous and well-lit. ( Dull surprise! )

Subsequently I've developed a great dislike for dentistry and drills. I also brush my teeth for more than two minutes a time.

To tell the truth, I would never have gone to see a dentist [much less go the entire canal and capping route] to fix that dreadfully chipped molar had it not hurt like a mother. Not only do I have a rational wariness of dentists, I also have a dreadful aversion to giving lots of money to people who hurt you. Hurting like a mother was one thing, but it also kicked in at exactly the wrong time - The Doll Affair was the next fucking week and I was up pretty much 24/7 at the sewing machine, except that the agony crippled me so severely that I could barely sit there and live, much less attempt to run through a collar curve on a kimono. ( How I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb. )

( Transition from Flashback to Present, swing to pan. )

Anyway, I went for it today armed with my dearly-loved iPod Ravage [fuck you Apple, I don't understand why you won't let me import two mp3s for no reason whatsofuckingever] at the 'Elbow' playlist. Today, a doctor I know only phonetically as 'Doctor Mark' [ended up being a lady, so I assume it's Dr. Mak or something] was to remove that temporary filling [lasted me for 4 months, an entire semester through, bless that root canalist] and put a 'post' on the hole to prep it and seal it forever much like you would a..a volcano god or something I don't know. ( Attempting ignorance, commencing. )

I know she's supposed to remove the temp filling and I suppose I can't think of a better way either, but I will swear, right now, that the dentist's answer to everything is 'drill'. Cavity? Drill. Root canal? Drill. Filling removal? Drill. Burning building? Drill. Mother-in-Law? Drill.
So maybe I'm being a bit harsh. I suppose past 'drill' there is sometimes 'composite' or 'emulsion' and what are you emulsifying in my mouth help

After a solid 15 minutes of drilling [lady must have some impressive guns] somewhere after 'Powder Blue' I cracked an eye open; she'd pulled the drill out. When my vision cleared into the light and her arm came into focus again, there was a 3 inch long drill bit attempting to enter my mouth.

So I closed my eyes again.

( Massive, MASSIVE! )

I'm sorry, I've really overgeneralised the dentistry occupation. Not only does it consist of 'drill', it also consists of 'small metal sticks that you cut and shove into a tooth'. That is the dentist answer to life. None of your sissy chemical stuff them usual doktars do, this is hardcore metal smithing. You mine a massive hole, you stuff it up with small metal sticks and you melt that motherfucker into submission! Won't fill, eh? I'll drill ya! Come on, mother-in-law, I'll take ya on, bitch!

( Foreign substances like soylent green… )

By the time I'd staggered out I was dazed. Apparently the next session will involve a ruthless grinding down of the tooth and its painstakingly applied composite 2 [fuck this shit] which will essentially turn my zombie tooth into a leper amongst its brethren until they deign to attach a crown, also known as a tiny toothy prosthetic. If I were the frivolous type I'd get a gold cap just to metaphorically express my hidden treasures, like my Swiss bank account. As it is, I'll be getting one of those plain white ones that will resemble my old teeth...to some degree.

Very short, pointless post of things I have to get down. College has started again and you can see by my evident absence it's same as always.
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U-Toys [the place I preorder my TFs from, if Toys R Us are busy slacking off] makes sure in their preorder email that many hetero males will order Hasbro Cybertron Ultra Class Wing Saber.
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Otherwise, I finally did that aforementioned root canal. I waited for 40 minutes past my appointment and thought to myself, "Please, for the love of God, don't let this procedure be something I can blog about." Other than the three injections that hurt akin to a dull mother, this was the most painless bit of dental work I have ever done. [I got over the drilling whine by listening to Death Cab on my iPod.] Now I weep as I have to return to the dentist prior who astutely noted my tooth was bad by smashing the end of her picky-tool against it. Oh God! I seek divinity in my moments of pain.
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This breaks my heart so much. With a second year/first sem schedule I'll never be able to make the four race days, much less the trainings. What a stab of ache through my chest. Singapore had better continue running the GP so that I can volunteer when I'm in my later years. Nothing else to say other than D8, really.
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I was spurred to write [dirty-word warning] fanfiction during my especially useless classes in my first sem and now, my second sem [hullo Financial Accounting] and they've all managed to revolve around one core topic alone. All I need is 300 to hit 10k words in writing I've done for this topic, and it frightens me. This is not my place.
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I think I just want to emphasize how devastated I am again.

Let me tell you a tale of truth
A tale of tragic, naive youth
The tale of an oppresséd teen
Under the MOE's regime
of compulsory dentistry!

No I'm not trying to imply
that we were normal students by
day and night were dentists -
I mean the G.O.V.T. foisted facists
of dentistry upon schoolkids!

These blatant facists, obviously uncaring
put the smackdown on any child daring
to have a cavity or gingivitis
(though perhaps their cruelty might've
been related to their low pay.)

(I know that 'might've' does not
rhyme with 'gingivitis' a lot
shut up.) I went in there with valid fear
I brushed my teeth and kept Listerine near
but that day was not my day.

Other than a taste of copper
a throbbing pain when I ate supper
the rudimentary filling seemed alright
until it crunched out with a bite
I think I moaned "Oh Jesus Christ!"

I wish the tale ended there
But I was caught so unaware
in agony; Monday - I played it quite cool
'till the doc smashed in her picky tool
it kept me up for two nights woman, I know it's bad.

So anyway the long and short
I'm on drugs, the meds purport
-edly will last me till my root canal
the procedure apparently quite banal
That doesn't rhyme but pretend it does.

( When life hands you uni health checkup, send a lot of SMSes to Djinn. )

Manually shipped by PersonBoredasCrap

THE CONTINUATION OF THE ADVENTUROUS FORAYS OF MAE INTO MEDI-LAND!

So today I went to see the specialist again - the MRI scans were to be reviewed today to see what was up with the ligament. I didn't sleep, so I was on time, but we had to wait anyway. Finally the 10.00 appointment was fulfilled at 10.35, and we trooped into the room.

( So Dr Jenkins, we meet again... )
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One day I'll look back on this and laaaaaaaaaaaugh.

I realised if my el-jay wasn't what it is, it would probably be "The Layman's Journal of the Medi-world". Yup, that means it's time for another Interesting Medical Anecdote.

Today's anecdote is about my first, and hopefully only MRI. If you've known me since my secondary school days with the air cast and Grapefruit of the Flesh [regrettably the picture is dead, so you won't see it now], you'll know that I have a niggly ligament issue with my left ankle, and after another sprain a while back from tripping at a pedestrian crossing [don't ask], I've had throbs of pain even when I'm not running/walking/bloody doing anything. Compiled with pain in my right knee and constant hurt week after week of 10 rounds around the track, my dad figured it was time to make it over to a specialist.

Today the specialist concluded it would be good for me to do an MRI, just to see what was up with my ligament. I balked at the price like no tomorrow, but my dad said no matter [though later at lunch he said that it's only proof that you need to be decently financially-able to take complete care of your health] and we hopped off to Asiamedic Specialist Center in Shaw Tower to get a scan on my ankle.
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( Fascinating is a word I use for the unexpected. Interesting shall suffice here. )

It turns out that he wasn't at the monitoring station all the time as evident from my dad's gleeful narration of how he was so nice and emerged from the room to ask him if he wanted a cup of coffee and whether he was doing fine. [He did, indeed, want a coffee and he did, indeed, make him one.]
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It's inconsequential to you whether or not my ligament has serious issues or non-serious issues, but if I'm so able I'll probably attempt to get back the X-rays of my ankle and my knee and the MRI scans and if I'm so bored I'll get them scanned for the sake of going "You can see right through me!".

Cross-sectioned Cookies for quote identification. No chips for google search!

I have a few things to talk about! That I haven't the time. I wasn't going to post, but I think there's something I really should do before it's too late.

PLEASE WATCH TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES. Please. Relive that childhood [even if you never had it]! It's so fantastic that Djinn and I have gone to watch it thrice and plan to watch it at least twice more.

It made me so happy, the script is really good and particularly entertaining for older fans of TMNT. The rendering is also fantabulous, I adore their expressions and the fight scenes are fast and furious, very nice. Also - gah, the best scene ever is the clash all TMNT fans have been waiting for : Raph versus Leo. BRILLIANT. [And kind of hot.] I really wanted to do this long review on how lovely it is, and how funny and witty and enjoyable it is - but I simply can't find the words to describe it. Please please please please go and watch TMNT. TAT I implore, beg, etc of you, before its run finishes. TAAAAAT Especially you American dudes - they need to break 100mil in domestic box office to get a sequel and they're not gonna make it! TAAAAAAAAAAT

I love Djinn. :D She is a chameleon! Who can draw humans and turtles! Imagine that. :O
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Also, before I run off, I'm going to be baleful about falling to bits. After having a hangover without alcohol in the morn I scooted myself down to the doctor today, deciding once and for all to check whether that bronchitis was gone, what's up with the pain in my knee and my ankle and what's up with the up-throat business. So the gastric virus was not a surprise, the bronchitis shouldn't be a problem anymore but definitely the ankle is somewhat loose ligament-wise again and the knee has cartilage issues - ie. mild to moderate symptoms of osteoarthritis. I might have to go to a orthopedic specialist again, which sucks money - and that gets me.

It seems that in regards to medical issues that ignorance is bliss. I remember Djinn thoughtfully saying that her tooth - and my tooth - didn't hurt until they poked at it. And it probably would have continued like that if they didn't poke at it. And it's true. Not saying that ignoring my knee or my ankle would've nullified the pain, but certainly I'd have less of a time being frustrated about it. The knowledge [that I acquired after looking at Wiki because the doctor that was in today was not the metro, young tanned one who is very good about explaining what the hey is really going on, but the nice but rather patronising older guy who does not care to tell me anything - come on dude, how the hell would I know what glucosamine is] that I basically can't recover/heal my knee cartilage is kind of getting to me - like the horrid realisation when I was 7 that I would never have perfect vision again.
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::goes away to contemplate turtles::

So this morning my dad popped in, largely cheery because he didn't have to wake up early to shuttle me off to school. Cue scene :

[MAE and DJINN are dead asleep, because MAE has spent the larger part of her night and morning rolling around in Great Agony and DJINN stayed up to watch England vs Spain and Germany vs Switzerland take care of MAE. DAD hops into the bedroom.]
(Chinese in italics.)

DAD : [chipper] Hey, how is she now?

DJINN : [groggy] She is....very UNFORTUNATE.

DAD : Ya. Very UNFORTUNATE.
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At least now I'm medicated and covered for today's absence.
On the flipside, I must continue the log of my travails with doctors. I recently had an encounter with the first commercial dentist I've ever gone to see, because in Singapore they send over government-sanctioned nurses and dentists to provide dental care. Of course the thing is that they don't give a damn, so my last experience with them in secondary school I bled all over the place, and the filling she put in fell out a few months later. For the past year my tooth has been chipping away and I've been lamenting to my dad that we need to get to a dentist stat [Djinn had the same problem, except for far longer]. Only recently have we discovered a dentist close-by, and scheduled an appointment.

So I went first, and it was concluded that she would clear up the decay in my badly chipped tooth, put a dressing and wait to see if it was better to put a permanent filling or if I should go for root canal treatment. So cue another scene :

( The one with Mae and the Dentist. )
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YOU KNOW SHE TOLD DJINN THAT IT WAS GOING TO HURT LATER? SHE'S AGE-IST! And also my dressing on the tooth has eroded into a sad little slope down from my molar. Bits started to fall out a few hours after the appointment. TAT I GET NO RESPECT. And the anaesthesia lasted for three hours.

[Also, RE : icon, yes, Robin van Persie (right) IS groping Almunia's (left) PENIS. YOU HEARD ME. PENIS.]

Arose on Friday before time, Djinn goes "What's wrong with you?" and then finds out there is indeed, something wrong with me and I am sent back to bed with a quick SMS from Djinn to my dad - who replies "Ok. U two go sleep now."

Was later whisked away to the doctor's, who tells me I've got an ulcer in the back of my throat [so that's where the sharp stabbing pain comes from!], the flu [durrrh, how pathetic] and gastric reflux. Gastric reflux, my foreign-educated [accent-wise, at least] young doctor says, can be caused by stress. He smoothly flips my medical card over. "How old are you?" "Seventeen." "Ah, JC is it? Stressed out preparing for your As?" "Um, no sir, I'm JC1 so all I have are my promos this year end."

He looks over sharply, stares me straight in the eye and says "Then so stressed for what?" [This is the only Singaporean lapse in his otherwise perfect English.]

"What do you take?" He asks suspiciously. "I'm in the Arts - um, History, Literature, Economics and a new subject called Knowledge and Inquiry. And um, AO Math." I volunteer - admittedly too helpfully. "What're you looking to do in university?" "Business management." I say, keeping in mind the O-level A-Math requirement I've already fulfilled.

He peers at me, and says - "You know, Economics S-Paper has a terribly low hit standard."

I cough a little, and start - "No, I'm not taki -" "When I say low hit standard, that means that veeeery little people get distinctions, do you know? My cousin, she took the same subjects and you - except for that Knowledge and Inquiry thing - and across the board, only two people got distinctions for Economics S-Paper. It's so difficult!"

By this time I'm nodding respectfully to his spiel because there's not much else I can do. "I always respect the Arts people, you know, because it's so difficult to take S-Papers. I myself," he says, as if it wasn't apparent enough, "am a Science person, so when I took my S-Paper for Physics and Math, I just went in and took them. What with the Arts and the extra classes."

"Anyway," he grins brightly. "About gastric reflux, there's a small minority of the population for which medication doesn't work. If that happens, we have to take it further, alright? Need an MC for today?"

So after that, I'm left to infer that I'm currently stressing out like I'm an S-Paper student? What a dumbfuck I am. But it's not like I have a choice, anyway - I can't let up, because if I let up it'll be hard to catch up; it's hard enough already, considering that it's already majorly difficult to keep up at the rate I'm working now. On the other hand, I'm running out of flu medicine and I'm not anywhere near well yet. THE DRUGS DON'T WORK.

This experience completely adds to my top three weird experiences with doctors. The top-ranking one being this, which cannot be beat in terms of weirdness. The second one - which I haven't detailed before, involves me wearing a really cute Star Wars "M"-pire shirt, with the Red M&M in a stormtrooper uniform next to two other real stormtroopers, with a caption that says "Aren't you a little short to be a stormtrooper?" So I wear this to the doctor, am suffering from stomach flu and the doctor tells me to lie down on the bed in the clinic. So I do, he towers over me and says - "Oh, so cute."

There is a deep, meaningful, loaded, cold silence.

"I meant the shirt." He qualifies, quickly.
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In any case, the house must be kinda dusty, and I need to clean it, because Azri keeps sneezing. Which is quite adorable and very funny, but I suppose that's a sign. Or maybe he's sneezing at himself, which means I need to clean the kitty.

This morning, after rushing out the script, homework and generally feeling vaguely happy about my academic state, I got up. And hacked out my lungs. I also went to toilet, and hacked out a few flashes of red amongst green.

I subsequently did not go to school.

My daddy arrived from Brunei and after hearing of my plight of leaving early the day before and me not going to school insisted on dragging me to another doctor, and was very annoyed about how the antibiotics [which had not been finished] didn't really seem to help me. So I was dragged off to a doctor.

We waited outside for the clinic to open, and to my shock I saw through the clear doors a lady in a surgical dress, clear gloves, paper mouthcover and a shower-cap-like blue hair cover bend down and unlock the doors. She then gestured us in, and talked normally. I tried hard not to stare, and I went in and shuffled through the Vogue magazines [I'd already gypped them of their only previous back backdated football - or even vaguely for men's mag] as well as watched a weird Korean wannabe Japanese serial with a very ugly girl telling her mother that she loved her teacher while out of the corner of my eye, I was bewilderedly staring at the lady shuffle through medical cards and whatnot.

It was really amazing. It was like everyone was seeing through all that plastic and paper and I was the only one who saw those strange things on her. It sort of worried me. And it was like it wasn't there. But it was.

The light flashed, signboard switching to number 20. She looked up, smiling through the paper covering her mouth and gave me the thumbs up with her gloved hand. Averting my eyes, my daddy and I went inside.



This picture is NOT ENOUGH to describe the pure horror that was the Doctor. A textual explaination - He was wearing this white fumigation-mask like thing, with the bottom elongated with holes in it. It covered the whole front of his head, and at the back a dark blue tube as well as these strange blocks of dark blue plastic resided, connected to the mask. The tube led to a dark blue jet pack thing obscured by the yellow bacteria-resistant raincoat-like bodysuit and he wore light blue gloves.

THIS time I averted my eyes much faster.

I swear, I felt like I was some radioactive object, and that a man in a yellow suit as well as other frightening accessories had come in to poke at me. But no. I had invited myself into the room. And I sat down. And he said:

"Speak louder dear. I can't hear past all the whistling at my ears."

as he gestured to the tube.

First off - what's all doctors' preoccupation to call me 'dear' affectionately even when they're male? Secondly, isn't it kind of obvious I'm NOT able to speak up because I have a sore throat?

I also found out that I might have minor thess-something [some strange blood disease] and also that my daddy is a romantic. It's okay if I have the minor thess-something and I can lead a normal life but if I ever get a boyfriend [which I seriously doubt I will] it has to be checked if he's a minor thess-something carrier. If he is, no more relationship because there's a 1/4 chance that the child could have major thess-something and then the kid will definately die. The doctor said cheerily that it'd be okay, there were many fish in the sea but my father said rather affectedly that it was kind of sad.

I think so too. Well, think about it - there's a 3/4 chance that the kid WOULDN'T have major thess-something, and there's always the no-child policy or adoption. XD

On the other hand, I'm very sorry I didn't go today. At least you guys got the roles sorted out [again] and we'll start work on the play soon. Karen, I actually really wanted you as Norma the first time I heard you, and I'm sorry the role was lost. About the time business, I think we'll screw that. And Jame? There's a printing option in Word to print two pages on one page, so yeah, just do that.

Well then. Off I go.