Thoughts From Hanoi

Two Thursday’s ago I headed into the dentists for what was supposed to be my final appointment after a phenomenal run of dental work over the past 6 months:

• 4 extractions (two of which were the stuff of nightmares)

• 2 root canals

• 3 porcelain inlays

• 7 fillings.

I’d awoken that morning to more WhatsApp notifications of departures from Hanoi, Twitter notifications of chaos and panic hashtags all over the place. Just a regular start to each day. 

I had somehow in the chaos of “do I stay or do I go?” managed to run synchronous and asynchronous Language and Literature lessons before jumping on my red scooter and heading off for my final dental appointment. 

Well, I normally require a fair bit of coping strategies at the dentist and Dr Arne is well aware of my internal panic – my shaking hands and robotic movements are a dead giveaway. This particular day, I thought I was doing OK and was calmer than usual as I knew this was my last major appointment. 

Anyway, 1 hour into the procedure after the 3 inlays had been inserted and Dr Arne was up to my second last filling I got a fright when one of the instruments simply touched the back of my mouth. 

Well, before I knew what I was doing I had grabbed Dr Arne’s hand (while he had an instrument in there) and my other hand was clenched into a fist and about to punch him in the face. Oh boy! I realised what I was doing and quickly let go and unclenched my fist.

Let’s just say we had to quickly finish up the filling and I had to do some grounding exercises. And for everyone’s safety, we had to reschedule the last filling. Sigh. It turns out the calm feeling I had was simply a survival numbness.

I had not realised just how tightly wound I was and how internalised the stress of the constant bombardment of CoVid-19 crazy had become. It had literally reached a point where I attacked an innocent dentist just doing his job.

So, I jumped on my red scooter and somehow managed to make it home. Thankfully Tay Ho traffic is very quiet these days. 

Yesterday, we wrapped up my final appointment and I was thrilled to get through the appointment without attacking Dr Arne. Needless to say, I was sitting on my hands the entire time. 

We have just finalised our sixth week of Distance Learning due to CorVid-19. On Friday we had a PD day to consolidate, share ideas and ensure we are prepared to consistently move forward with uncertain timeframes for reopening. 

I am fortunate to be in a truly remarkable grade level team led by an exceptional educator and made up of truly remarkable, hardworking and inspiring fellow educators. We kicked off our PD day with a great online meeting exploring how we can help children safely work with technology in this well and truly technology-saturated time of learning. We then simply allowed ourselves to be human and reflect on how we are actually going. 

Oh my, this is such a challenging time for our educators. 

Our meeting ended up going for about 2 hours and we simply discussed and talked about the struggle, the isolation, worries for our family in affected areas, we were honest, cried, and just allowed the reality of the situation to be the reality of the situation, without feeling the need to search for the silver linings. Sometimes that search for silver lining is just downright exhausting.

Oh, what a blessing it is to simply be sometimes, even if it is not a positive state. 

I summarised our meeting of just being allowed to simply be with the following message to our team:

“I am very grateful to know that I am not alone and the only one feeling like a little ant trying to push a rock up a very steep hill … in a snow storm … at altitude.”

I am so very grateful for colleagues who have the wisdom to simply be present in whatever state that may be. The permission to simply be has done more my personal wellness than any wellbeing event.

Gratitude abounds. 

One of my CorVid-19 coping strategies is to immerse myself in beautiful literature, take time to appreciate art that touches the soul, and enjoy funny Netflix series (thank you A Very Secret Service for all the belly laughs). 

Last night I picked up a children’s book I had purchased for my Grade 10 Language and Literature class to help us appreciate the magic of words as we entered a poetry and self-expression inquiry unit. This magical children’s book is titled This Is a Poem That Heals Fish. It is written by Jean-Pierre Simeon and illustrated by Olivier Tallec.

The story is of a little boy who thinks his fish is unwell and believes that a poem is what will heal his fish. He heads out of a journey around his neighbourhood to discover just what a poem is.

Some of the responses he receives are pure beauty and magic:

‘A poem, Arthur, is when you are in love, and have the sky in your mouth.’

‘A poem? … it is hot like fresh bread. When you eat it, a little is always left over.’

‘A poem is when you hear the heartbeat of a stone.’

‘A poem is when words beat their wings. It is a song sung in a cage.’

‘A poem turns words around, upside down, and – suddenly – the world is new.’

The magic of This Is a Poem That Heals Fish is perfect for those CorVid-19 blues. 

The weather is strangely transitioning from winter to spring in Hanoi. This past weekend was delightfully warm and humid. As I walked down To Ngoc Van on Sunday afternoon the heat and humidity reminded me of one of my most unique and favorite Darwin memories. 

This memory – that just captures the quirkiness of the Territory – took place about 3 years ago. It was the November build-up to the Darwin Wet Season. The days and nights were suffocatingly hot and humid. 

A beloved friend of mine who has bravely battled with drug addiction for many years was serving time in the Darwin Correctional Centre, or the Darwin Lock-up, as locals call it. I was so excited to see him and to spend time sitting and talking with him at the concrete tables with the industrial fan whirring overhead. 

Of course, one must go through security before we can access the visitor’s section of the prison. And this is where it is just so quintessentially Darwin. 

I entered the small airconditioned demountable and placed all my belongings in a small metal locker. I then sat quietly and sympathetically smiled at the other visitors registered for this particular visiting time. A prison guard then called our group of visitors outside for the routine pat-down and the sniffer dog test. 

On this particular day, it was extremely hot and humid, and to top it off, I’d signed up for the midday visitors hours. Oh boy. So we all stand in a straight line facing the prison guards and one of them walks the sniffer dog along. However, the heat had gotten to this big law enforcing German Shepherd and by the time he arrived at me (I was at the end of the line) he did his job of sniffing about and promptly slouched down on my feet, sighed, put his head on his paws, closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Pure Darwin.

WARNING: Do not read this if you need to have a wisdom tooth extracted.

Last Friday afternoon I went to the dentist for a scheduled root canal. A visit to the dentists evokes a range of strong emotions, most of which involve an element of panic. 

My dentist, the simply wonderful Dr Arne, noticed that I was shaking and to help calm me said, “Laura, this root canal will be nothing like your extractions, the worst is over. Now that it is over, I can tell you: your lower right wisdom tooth extraction was the worst I have ever seen. I did not want to tell you during or after the procedure, but I can tell you now – I have never seen anything like it.” 

So, here is the story of that extraction:

I discovered in September last year that I needed to have all four wisdom teeth removed. Over the years I had just gotten used to their annoyance but decided to take Dr Arne’s advice and go through with the procedure. 

I was warned that the bottom right tooth was deep and would take slightly more time than a normal extraction. Little did I or Dr Arne know, it would take much longer than a usual extraction.

So at 10.30 am on October 5 I was settled in the dental chair expecting to have all four teeth extracted in less than two hours. I had downloaded the Caliphate podcast by Rukmini Callmachi and was mentally prepared for what lay ahead. 

Dr Arne administered the first injection for my top right wisdom tooth and I zoned into Episode 1 of Caliphate and started listened to the horrifying stories of former ISIS terrorists and the atrocities they inflicted upon their victims. Although I could feel the pressure and the initial injection was painful, I was surprised when after 15 minutes my top right tooth had been extracted and stitched up. 

Dr Arne then proceeded with the lower right extraction and I moved onto Episode 2 of Caliphate. I checked the time on the computer with my x-rays displayed and the procedure commenced at 11.05 am. The pressure was much more intense than the first extraction, but I figured this was just how it was so I closed my eyes and zoned into the story of just how the amazing Rukmini tracks down ISIS terrorists in order to bring them to justice. 

By 11.35 am I was really feeling the pressure and I opened my eyes, popped a headphone out and saw two dentists above me and heard them conversing in German. Dr Adrian had come to help. 

Oh boy, am I glad that I do not understand a word of German. 

Dr Arne rubbed my shoulder and said to me, “I have called my colleague in as this tooth is taking a little longer than normal, we just need you to have another x-ray.” So the lovely dental assistant led me to the x-ray room and I had to painfully bite down on the x-ray machine while an x-ray was taken of my jaw. 

After the x-ray, I figured that I would need something a little more calming to listen to. Stories of beheadings and torture were not quite complementing the “Oh Lord Jesus, please give me the grace to get through this procedure” mantra running through my mind. 

From here on out the remaining 2 hours of the extraction are slightly blurred. Here is what I remember:

• My jaw being gripped and pulled as Dr Arne and Dr Adrian used all their strength to dislodge the stubborn tooth.

• Drilling sounds and intense pressure in my jaw.

• The lovely dental assistant holding my hands and giving me a hand massage and saying “it’s OK, it’s OK.”

• More drilling sounds and intense pressure in my jaw.

• The lovely dental assistant stroking my hair and saying “it’s OK, it’s OK.”

• Opening my eyes and seeing instruments that looked like a hammer and chisel being used to crack my tooth in pieces.

• The local anesthesia wearing off and my only being able to lift my arm and make an injection gesture in order to get more anesthesia. I remember doing this about 3 times, maybe more.

• Being led by the lovely dental assistant who took me to the x-ray room for a second x-ray. While I waited for Dr Arne and Dr Adrian to return, this angel dental assistant stroked my hair and kept saying “it’s OK, it’s OK.”

• More drilling sounds and intense pressure in my jaw.

• The left side of my lip slightly cracking open. Ouch.

• Dr Arne multiple times saying “we are nearly there, you are doing really well.”

• More drilling sounds and intense pressure in my jaw.

• My jaw being gripped and pushed in the opposite direction.

• The lovely dental assistant holding both sides of my head and saying “it’s OK, it’s OK.”

• Grunting noises as Dr Arne and Dr Adrian struggled to loosen the tooth.

At 1.35 pm I heard Dr Arne say, “I think we have it all, we just need you to have one more x-ray to make sure there is nothing left inside.” So I walked in a daze to the x-ray room and once again, painfully bit down on the x-ray machine guide and “flash” the x-ray was taken. 

When Dr Arne walked back into the room and said, “it’s all removed, that was one stubborn tooth that was connected to your jaw bone.” 

Oh, my word, the relief I felt. I then simply had to lie down again and Dr Arne stitched me up.

When I walked out to the waiting room with an icepack on my jaw, it was packed. I remember about seven pairs of eyes looking at me with annoyance as I had obviously caused their appointment to be delayed. I tried to smile apologetically, but smiling was physically impossible and the pain just not worth it.

Dr Arne and Dr Adrian came out and I remember one of them saying, “You have a very high pain threshold, I am so surprised that you did not faint.” It turns out the lovely dental assistant was holding both sides of my head as they were expecting me to faint and pass out from the pressure and pain. 

As I turned to leave, the seven sets of eyes were no longer looking at me with hostility, but rather they looked at me sympathetically and with a tinge of horror.

I was so glad to hop in a taxi and make my way home, where I promptly took some codeine and passed out for 12 hours. I am so glad that ordeal is over.