I left a bit of myself in Portugal... including my teeth
On the sixteenth of May, a few hours after my shift ended, Anika and I set off for a holiday of sunshine, spirits, and surf. At 6 pm sharp, me actually being early for once in my life, we meet in Central Station, Lola getting some fresh air for the first time since we arrived at Cocomama.
-> If you are just tuning in, Lola is my backpack, my one and only travel companion. She's been through it all with me.
We load the train, Schipol bound... so we think. Moments later a Dutch voice comes over the speaker informing us that there are no trains leaving the station heading to the airport.
And so begins the series of unfortunate events.
We shuffle off the train to find another destination to transfer at. After much ado we arrive at the airport. We scour Schipol, devoting every last minute to buying duty-free gadgets, endlessly contemplating which of the five food options will satiate our hunger: Bubbles & Seafood, Wox Box, Mediterranean Sandwich, Sbarro, or Burger King. We shove pesto sandwiches into our mouths, pine nuts plummeting to the floor, as we board in the priority lane... ooo la la!
Confusion overcomes us as we buckle our seat belts and the plane fills with Asians.
...Are we on the right flight? Are we heading to Singapore?
To my left, a couple nestles in. I watch as the man pours his Cabernet into his wive's Heineken. She pounds on her arm and he shifts in his seat performing mile-high acrobatics. The row shakes as my eyes roll back in my head.
We begin to descend. A voice mumbles something over the loudspeaker that I imagine to be "Ladies and gentlemen, we are now preparing for our descent into Lisbon, Portugal. We ask that you please remain seated as the seat belt sign is now lit. We also ask that you stow your trays and return your seats the upright position." And then came the English clarification. "Ladies and gentlemen, unfortunately due to storms traveling in our path towards Lisbon, it is not safe for us to land. We will be detouring to Porto where we will wait for further instructions. We ask that you please remain in your seats." The Asian domination does not understand. The air is hot, stale, and smelling of Singaporean armpits.
Two hours later we find ourselves in Lisbon. At 4 am our bodies are pressed atop mattress springs. We whisper slap lekker and doze off into our dreams. But 10 am comes too fast. We chug coffee, shove breakfast down our throats and shimmy into wet suits. I feel like a beached whale, belly down on the board. I practice my stance on the ground as the others watch: paddle-paddle-paddle, right knee up, left leg to the front, arms out, find your balance. Simple right? Yeah... anything BUT.
I roll onto the board. My arms scoop the water, all my energy drained paddling beyond the break, building up hope, attempting to ride as my body sways and hits the wave. Frustration builds. The excitement is dwindling as I watch the others stand, sprawling their arms out in the wind. Alex our instructors beckons to me "Kourtney! Let's go! Paddle!"
On the final wave of our lesson my feet find their places and I am standing atop the water. Pure ecstasy. The wave takes me in. My fists raise in triumph as the others cheer from the break. My first and last ride along Portuguese waters.
Our second lesson comes and I am ready to greet the waves. Itching to stand again, I paddle out and wait for the perfect wave to come sweep me up. Alex pushes me off. I scoop the water and push my body up, sliding my knee forward while swinging my left foot into place. It is a hopeless effort as my body plummets into the water. Saltwater leaks through my lips and stings my eyes and my head searches for which way is up. My mouth leads, sucking in a breath as my eyes greet the air.
And then it all happens. It all happens so fast. Too fast. There is no time to think, no time to fix what is about it occur.
I watch as the surfboard crashes down, the edge slicing my mouth. Terror overcomes me. My tongue rolls over two out-of-place pieces lingering in the back of my mouth. It moves to the front, gliding over my front teeth, sharp and barely there. I spit the pieces out into my hand to confirm two chunks of my pearly whites. I look down at them. My broken smile stares back. I scream and immediately throw them into the ocean, wanting nothing to do with the reality of what just happened. The others yell to me, paddling as I book it for the shore.
"My teef!" I mutter between sobs and heart palpitations. "MY TEEF!"
My mind races as I make it to the shore, not sure of what to do. I sit. I stand. I sit. I stand. All the while my hand hides my mouth as the tears fall, the drool pours out and the snot runs. I feel ugliness oozing out of my pores, my crest-whitened smile shattered.
Anika grabs my shoulders and assures me "Everything will be okay. We'll go to the dentist and get them fixed. It's not as bad as you think. It could be so much worse."
My smile is not something to mess with. It is a big part of my life, of who I am. 93% of the time I am proudly wearing it, laughing through it. If you know me, I am sure you aware of how much pleasure I get out of a good laugh. It took me so many school pictures and Christmas cards to master a natural smile, an open-mouthed grin that didn't seem forced. I spent thirty minutes a day whitening the crest way to make up for my distaste for teeth brushing when I was younger. I became quite fond of the progress I have made with my mouth, the smile that has made me who I am. And suddenly it was taken away from me. With only one successful surf under my toes, I was faced with the horror that...
We load the train, Schipol bound... so we think. Moments later a Dutch voice comes over the speaker informing us that there are no trains leaving the station heading to the airport.
And so begins the series of unfortunate events.
We shuffle off the train to find another destination to transfer at. After much ado we arrive at the airport. We scour Schipol, devoting every last minute to buying duty-free gadgets, endlessly contemplating which of the five food options will satiate our hunger: Bubbles & Seafood, Wox Box, Mediterranean Sandwich, Sbarro, or Burger King. We shove pesto sandwiches into our mouths, pine nuts plummeting to the floor, as we board in the priority lane... ooo la la!
Confusion overcomes us as we buckle our seat belts and the plane fills with Asians.
...Are we on the right flight? Are we heading to Singapore?To my left, a couple nestles in. I watch as the man pours his Cabernet into his wive's Heineken. She pounds on her arm and he shifts in his seat performing mile-high acrobatics. The row shakes as my eyes roll back in my head.
We begin to descend. A voice mumbles something over the loudspeaker that I imagine to be "Ladies and gentlemen, we are now preparing for our descent into Lisbon, Portugal. We ask that you please remain seated as the seat belt sign is now lit. We also ask that you stow your trays and return your seats the upright position." And then came the English clarification. "Ladies and gentlemen, unfortunately due to storms traveling in our path towards Lisbon, it is not safe for us to land. We will be detouring to Porto where we will wait for further instructions. We ask that you please remain in your seats." The Asian domination does not understand. The air is hot, stale, and smelling of Singaporean armpits.
Two hours later we find ourselves in Lisbon. At 4 am our bodies are pressed atop mattress springs. We whisper slap lekker and doze off into our dreams. But 10 am comes too fast. We chug coffee, shove breakfast down our throats and shimmy into wet suits. I feel like a beached whale, belly down on the board. I practice my stance on the ground as the others watch: paddle-paddle-paddle, right knee up, left leg to the front, arms out, find your balance. Simple right? Yeah... anything BUT.
I roll onto the board. My arms scoop the water, all my energy drained paddling beyond the break, building up hope, attempting to ride as my body sways and hits the wave. Frustration builds. The excitement is dwindling as I watch the others stand, sprawling their arms out in the wind. Alex our instructors beckons to me "Kourtney! Let's go! Paddle!"
On the final wave of our lesson my feet find their places and I am standing atop the water. Pure ecstasy. The wave takes me in. My fists raise in triumph as the others cheer from the break. My first and last ride along Portuguese waters.
Our second lesson comes and I am ready to greet the waves. Itching to stand again, I paddle out and wait for the perfect wave to come sweep me up. Alex pushes me off. I scoop the water and push my body up, sliding my knee forward while swinging my left foot into place. It is a hopeless effort as my body plummets into the water. Saltwater leaks through my lips and stings my eyes and my head searches for which way is up. My mouth leads, sucking in a breath as my eyes greet the air.
And then it all happens. It all happens so fast. Too fast. There is no time to think, no time to fix what is about it occur.
I watch as the surfboard crashes down, the edge slicing my mouth. Terror overcomes me. My tongue rolls over two out-of-place pieces lingering in the back of my mouth. It moves to the front, gliding over my front teeth, sharp and barely there. I spit the pieces out into my hand to confirm two chunks of my pearly whites. I look down at them. My broken smile stares back. I scream and immediately throw them into the ocean, wanting nothing to do with the reality of what just happened. The others yell to me, paddling as I book it for the shore.
"My teef!" I mutter between sobs and heart palpitations. "MY TEEF!"
My mind races as I make it to the shore, not sure of what to do. I sit. I stand. I sit. I stand. All the while my hand hides my mouth as the tears fall, the drool pours out and the snot runs. I feel ugliness oozing out of my pores, my crest-whitened smile shattered.
Anika grabs my shoulders and assures me "Everything will be okay. We'll go to the dentist and get them fixed. It's not as bad as you think. It could be so much worse."
How could it get any worse than this?
I may never smile again.
I have a similar missing tooth story. When I was 12-years old I was playing basketball with my friend on my adjustable hoop. My parents were not home at the time. We had lowered the hoop so we could dunk. On one of my fancy attempts I opened my mouth to roar so I could add power to my dunk and my open mouth went into the net. I had no idea something unusual happened until I landed and heard the hoop go "Baboom!" I landed on my feet with no problem and felt absolutely no pain. The only odd feeling was the sensation or cool air on a part of my mouth where I had never felt air before. I touched my tongue to the part of my mouth that felt the air and discovered an open space where my front right tooth was supposed to be. I looked down and saw my shirt was splattered with blood. Still, there was no pain. I spit and more blood came out. I searched on the driveway and found the tooth, a two-inch long white bone. I was sick to see how long the tooth really was. Most of it was the root which had always been hidden inside my mouth behind my nose. I took it to the neighbor and she knew to put the live tooth into a cup of milk so that it could absorb calcium. She drove me to the hospital and called my mother. Two hours later I was in the dentist's chair with the sterilized tooth firmly back in place, having been shoved back into place to preserve it. It stayed there for about four years until one day I was playing basketball with a different friend, but on the very same court, when my friend bumped his shoulder into my mouth and my tooth popped out, but this time it came out in pieces because the root had decayed over time. Three root canals later the bone along the top front part of my mouth had been grafted, or restructured, a metal screw had been inserted and a porcelain tooth had been glued on. The implant has been there ever since. I've had it that way for about 15 years with no problem. The dentist said it should hold for about 30 years, at which time I may have to have it done again to hold for another 30 years. The moral of the story is a good dentist can fix the problem of a missing tooth incredibly well, but you never forget the shock of that moment when you realize a piece of hard bone has been permanently detached from your body. At least you have your smile back, and now you have a good story to go with it.
ReplyDelete-Josh.