Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
And he said, sounding suddenly weary, “I don't know. Why don't trees touch the sky?”
Médioni works from an apartment on the third floor of a handsome 19th-century building,
and,onleaving,Ialwaysthink,Waitaminute.DidIseeadiplomaonhiswall?CouldDoctor
possiblybetheman'sfirstname? He'snotindifferent.It'sjustthatIexpect alittle something
more than “It'll goaway.” The thunderbolt cleared up,just as he said it would, and I've since
metdozensofpeoplewhohavefattytumorsandgetalongjustfine.Maybe,beingAmerican,
I want bigger names for things. I also expect a bit more gravity. “I've run some tests,” I'd
like to hear, “and discovered that what you have is called a bilateral ganglial abasement, or,
in layman's terms, a cartoidal rupture of the venal septrumus. Dogs get these things all the
time, and most often they die. That's why I'd like us to proceed with the utmost caution.”
For my $50, I want to leave the doctor's office in tears, but instead I walk out feeling like
a hypochondriac, which is one of the few things I'm actually not. If my French physician
is a little disappointing, my French periodontist more than makes up for it. I have nothing
but good things to say about Dr. Guig, who, gumwise, has really brought me back from the
abyss. Twice in the course of our decade-long relationship he's performed surgical interven-
tions. Then, last year, he removed four of my lower incisors, drilled down into my jawbone,
and cemented in place two posts. First, though, he sat me down and explained the procedure,
using lots of big words that allowed me to feel tragic and important. “I'm going to perform
the surgery at nine o'clock on Tuesday morning, and it should take, at most, three hours,” he
said—all of this, as usual, in French. “At six that evening, you'll go to the dentist for your
temporary implants, but still I'd like you to block out that entire day.”
WhenIgothome,Iaskedmyboyfriend,Hugh,“WheredidhethinkIwasgoingtogowith
four missing teeth?”
I see Dr. Guig for surgery and consultations, but the regular, twice-a-year deep cleanings
are performed by his associate, a woman named Dr. Barras. What she does in my mouth
is unspeakable, and, because it causes me to sweat, I've taken to bringing a second set of
clothes, and changing in the bathroom before I leave for home. “Oh, Monsieur Sedaris,” she
chuckles. “You are such a child.”
A year ago, I arrived and announced that, since my previous visit, I'd been flossing
every night. I thought this might elicit some praise—“How dedicated you are, how discip-
lined!”—but instead she said, “Oh, there's no need.”
It was the same when I complained about all the gaps between my teeth. “I had braces
whenIwasyoung,butmaybeIneedthemagain,”Itoldher.AnAmericandentistwouldhave
referred me to an orthodontist, but, to Dr. Barras, I was being hysterical. “You have what we
in France call 'good-time teeth,'” she said. “Why on earth would you want to change them?”
“Um, because I can floss with the sash to my bathrobe?”
“Hey,”shesaid.“Enoughwiththeflossing.Youhavebetterwaystospendyourevenings.”
