Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I guess that's where the good times come in.
Dr. Barras has a sick mother and a long-haired cat named Andy. As I lie there sweating
with my trap wide open, she runs her electric hook under my gum line, and catches me up on
herlifesincemylastvisit.Ialwaysleavewithamouthfulofblood,yetIalwayslookforward
to my next appointment. She and Dr. Guig are my people, completely independent of Hugh,
andthoughit'sastretchtolabelthemfriends,Ithinkthey'dmissmeifIdiedofafattytumor.
Something similar is happening with my dentist, Dr. Granat. He didn't fabricate my im-
plants—that was the work of a prosthodontist—but he took the molds and made certain that
theteethfit.Thiswasdoneduringfivevisitsinthewinterof2011.Onceaweek,I'dshowup
at the office and climb into his reclining chair. Then I'd sink back with my mouth open. “Ça
va?” he'd ask every five minutes or so, meaning “All right?” And I'd release a little tone.
Like a doorbell. “E-um.”
Implants come in two stages. The first teeth that get screwed in, the temporaries, are
blocky, and the color is off. The second ones are more refined, and are somehow dyed or
painted to match their neighbors. My four false incisors are connected to form a single unit,
and were secured in place with an actual screwdriver. Because the teeth affect one's bite, the
positioning has to be exact, so my dentist would put them in and then remove them to make
minoradjustments.Putthemin,takethemout.Overandover.Allthepainwasbehindmeby
this point, and so I just lay there, trying to be a good patient.
Dr. Granat keeps a small, muted television mounted near the ceiling, and each time I come
itistunedtotheFrenchtravelchannel.Voyage,it'scalled.Once,Iwatchedagroupofmoun-
tain people decorate a yak. They didn't string lights on it, but everything else seemed fair
game: ribbons, bells, silver sheaths for the tips of its horns.
“Ça va?”
“E-um.”
Another week, we were somewhere in Africa, where a family of five dug into the ground
and unearthed what looked to be a burrow full of mice. Dr. Granat's assistant came into the
room to ask a question, and when I looked back at the screen the mice had been skinned
andplaced,kebab-like, onsharpsticks.Thencameanotherdistraction, andwhenIlookedup
again the family in Africa were grilling the mice over a campfire, and eating them with their
fingers.
“Ça va?” Dr. Granat asked, and I raised my hand, international dental sign language for
“There is something vital I need to communicate.” He removed his screwdriver from my
mouth,andIpointedtothescreen. “Ils ont mangé des souris en brochette,” Itoldhim,mean-
ing “They have eaten some mice on skewers.”
He looked up at the little TV. “Ah, oui?”
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