The irony of wisdom.

Photo by Alina Levkovich.

Every time I go to the dentist, the issue of my rogue, stubborn wisdom tooth is raised. This particular tooth can't decide if it's in or out; it emerges from the tight flesh of my gum, peeking like a scout coming up for air or testing the waters but in reverse, while the rest of it lurks beneath like the bottom of an iceberg.

Every time I go to the dentist, they suggest I opt for an x-ray that costs £66 and has to be done at the surgery down the road, as they're the ones who have that particular miracle machine. Every time I go to the dentist, they suggest this 'fab' new brush I can purchase in reception before I depart, it's better than the last one I was told to get six months ago, it's got more bristles and a better curve to it - it'll get right behind the problem poking through and clear things up. Every time I go to the dentist, I ask them to remove the wisdom tooth that lurks so viciously inside my head and fires up my gum and presses on my nerve and causes me such pain. And every time, they say no. 

G. x