It wasn’t my plan to get a root canal in the middle of the North Atlantic, writes Jane Macdougall. But I wouldn’t change it.Illustration by The Globe and Mail/iStock/Pexels
“How do you say chlorhexidine in English?”
She paused, removed her hands from my mouth, and waited for my answer:
“Chlorhexidine.”
Somehow we all found this hilarious – the dentist, the dental assistant and me.
They resumed chatting above me in an incomprehensible language while I watched the clouds float over the harbour of Torshavn, the capital of the Faroe Islands. I was having emergency dentistry in the middle of the North Atlantic and it wasn’t the worst thing that has ever happened to me. In fact, all things considered, I highly recommend it.
When you visit a place, you want to learn what it’s like, what it’s really like. You can jump on a Hop On, Hop Off bus. Sign up for a walking tour. Apps, books, Rick Steves – all good options. Or you can get hyper local and have an emergency root canal.
For veracity, it can’t be duplicated. I went hyper local and I think I now qualify as a bit of a regional expert because of it. Not that I had a choice.
“Open wide,” she said, so I did.
It wasn’t my plan to have an emergency root canal in the middle of the North Atlantic. Hardly.
That the option existed, however, was a godsend. I’ve never had a toothache before. I had no idea just how blindingly painful a toothache could be. The dentist did. She said that if she was an evil dictator, this is exactly how she’d torture people. If I’d had state secrets, I’d have surrendered them all.
On a barge tour in France, I learned to go with the flow
The tooth announced its evil agenda while I was on the skybridge over the sensational Voringfossen waterfall in Eidfjord, Norway. I’d been inexplicably uneasy while the infection had been mustering strength. Inside of a day, that uneasiness bloomed into an urge to leap off that skybridge to end my misery.
“Open wide,” said the ship’s doctor before he dosed me with painkillers and antibiotics. As I held my aching jaw in my hand, we talked about his life in Ukraine. I reminded myself there was suffering in the world far, far greater than mine. The next day’s checkup resulted in the doctor arranging for a dental appointment in the following day’s port, Torshavn.
The next morning a taxi was waiting at the dock. Just how off-the-beaten track are the Faroe Islands? Autocorrect insists on spelling it Pharoah Islands. I was certain I was heading to a cod-drying shack where a geriatric whaler would pry out my tooth with the aid of a dirty harpoon. I imagined this superannuated Viking scoffing at my request for anesthetic. I worried about language skills. The people in the Faroe Islands speak Faroese. I didn’t know how to say “hi” let alone “unbearable pain” in Faroese. I imagined having to identify my affliction via interpretative song and dance.
“Open wide,” said the lovely dentist in perfect English as I reclined in a dental office more modern than the one I go to in Vancouver. The dental assistant made pleasant small talk, also in perfect English. Options were discussed. I found myself saying, “I have complete faith in you; have at it.”
Exploring Armenia with an old friend, I find hospitality and history
While they puttered away on my molar, I learned that municipal clinics provide dentistry at no cost for Faroese people up until the age of 18, that there are about 50 dentists serving the Faroe Islands’ population of approximately 55,000 and that dentists get their training in Denmark. The Faroes are an autonomous territory of Denmark so everyone speaks Danish, as well as English and Faroese. There are no McDonalds in the Faroe Islands.
Rotary exchange programs are popular, the dentist having done one in the American midwest and her daughter currently doing the same. There are traffic tunnels up to 60 storeys under the seabed connecting various islands within the archipelago. They like life in their Nordic island nation but the winters are long, though milder than you’d expect, thanks to the North Atlantic Current, which is an extension of the Gulf Stream. It was suggested we try a local sushi restaurant, given that the Faroes are a fishing community at their core.
Travel leaves you open to eventualities. Something can go horribly wrong yet result in a marvelous serendipity. I was once stranded on a tiny sandbar – night approaching, tide rising – the resort having forgotten they’d dropped us off for a picnic at noon. Luckily, a sailboat of French doctors on a day off from their compulsory military service in Martinique hove into view and rescued us. We ended up playing Scrabble until dawn. An excellent ending, given that the one I imagined involved sharks.
Something can go wrong. Something can go right. The important thing is to go. Open wide.
Jane Macdougall is a writer based in Vancouver.
