Please Extract #31

There it is, simply written in beautiful cursive handwriting.  Three word groups starkly displayed on a very small white envelope with an even smaller x-ray inside.  "Please extract #31."  For some reason, the very simplicity of the phrase has a much larger impact than its basic visual appearance.  Probably because we are talking about a tooth.  One of mine.

Now, I've had a tooth extracted before.  Knowing what it entails probably makes those three words so very strong.  I think, too, that the word "extract" sounds much more threatening than "pulled."  The word "pulled" implies some cozy, after dinner story about wrapping a string around the tooth in question (whilst very young), and tying the other end around a door knob, rock, toaster, or some kind of object  to pull the offending tooth out so you have something to put under your pillow for the Tooth Fairy.  Money usually being the reward.

Being somewhat older now, the tooth in question needs to be "extracted," usually by a dental surgeon type. [This, of course, does not address those teeth lost to high impact moments usually experienced in fighting, or accidents where the face comes into forcible contact with an immovable object.]

Now, not only does the tooth  need to be extracted by this oral surgeon, but instead of receiving a nice monetary reward for the removal of the offending tooth - for my own good - I am responsible for laying out a hefty chunk of cash.  Where's the Tooth Fairy now???  I'd really like to know, because there seems to be a great imbalance here!  Never mind the visions of being a toothless wonder which dance in my head.

I comfort myself with the fact that the hefty fee going to the oral surgeon is honestly earned.  In some cases, I understand, it can be the struggle of the century to extract certain teeth.  I have found out from the receptionist that my surgeon spends most of his time "extracting" teeth.  So he probably needs the extra cash to pay for his treatments for elbow and shoulder tendinitis.  

I have a lovely vision of the gentleman - in a Popeye-like way - where one arm/shoulder is hugely, over-developed  which he waves around with a pair of pincer-like tongs in his hand.   Happily, I can say that a) the experience hasn't been that bad, and, b) unhappily? (lol) his arms actually look normal.

The event is still to come.  In the meantime, each time I pass the area where that very small white envelope sits, all I can see are the words...."Please Extract #31."