So, I just returned from the dentist, and it was determined
that my tooth is dying. Its super
sensitive to temperature, and just sensitive in general really. It just doesn’t
feel right.
Lets rewind 6 weeks. I
was running, a large man was running and my face collided with his head.
Now lets rewind about 6 months.
Who knew SVG had a national rugby team? Certainly not me, for nearly a year, too! And
why would any one? The only sports that are advertised and supported/promoted
are football and cricket, and a handful of others to a lesser extent. I
actually stumbled upon the team by chance through a friend of a friend of a
friend’s boyfriend. One of my close Peace
Corps friends knew that I really missed playing rugby, a sport I picked up, again
by chance, in college. Somehow it got brought up in conversation with one of
her friends that her boyfriend plays rugby and they were looking to recruit
more girls for the women’s team. My
Peace Corps friend promptly informed me and I was training with the rugby team
within a week!
However, I may have been their only recruit, as training
consists of playing touch/hold rugby with the guys. At most, 2 women, including myself, come to
training on any given night. Although it’s not much of a women’s “team”, it is
a lot of fun to be playing rugby again, if only for fun, and with guys. I must admit, it was a bit intimidating to be
the only girl training with a bunch of strangers, a bunch of guys at that. But they were all exceedingly welcoming and
fun to be around. It didn’t take long to feel a part of the “team”. My only qualm about playing (especially with
guys, even though we never actually tackled) is that I didn’t have a mouth
guard and there was nowhere to get one. I am terrified of knocking out a tooth.
This fear, my biggest fear, when it comes to playing rugby,
came to fruition pretty quickly. It all
happened so fast; another player and I were both going to “hold” the guy with
the ball at the same time. We were
running full speed from opposite directions and wrapped the guy with the ball
from opposite sides, resulting in my mouth colliding with his eyebrow
bone. I immediately fell to the ground,
but felt fine, just a little bump I thought.
Before I got up, I looked up at one of the other guys standing above me,
presumably wondering if I was knocked unconscious, and hastily inquired if all
my teeth were in tact. He informed me
that my teeth were, in fact, all there.
Thank god, I thought and began to get up. I insisted I was fine, but all
the guys kept contending that I was not fine, and needed to go to the hospital
for stitches. I couldn’t really feel
anything wrong, just a little swelling of my lip, and some blood, but its not
like it was gushing or anything. Again,
I insisted I was fine. Then I realized
my front tooth was loose. My worst
nightmare was true. I kinda started to
freak out at this moment.
Well that effectively ended training, and all the guys
gathered their belongings pretty quickly and we all piled into one of the guys’
Jeeps. At first we went to the nearest clinic,
but Peace Corps policy dictates which doctors we can see. So, while there I cleaned myself up a bit;
interestingly, all the other players were in their nice clothes already, I was
the only one still in rugby clothes, covered in grass and dirt. From there, they all drove me into Town to
go to the hospital. A place I hoped to never have to go, but also thought that
this would be the last reason to end up there, if anything I thought it would
be a nut allergy related incident (thank god it wasn’t). The emergency room in SVG is nothing like
going to the emergency room in the States.
First of all there wasn’t pages upon pages of paperwork, copays, and
long waits. There was one child who had
a pretty bad cut on his head before me, but other than that I was in and out. I
thought I would have been there all night, and was worried about being able to
get home so late. Most of the rugby
players waited with me at the emergency room until I was finished up. I was pleased to not have to sit there alone
and am truly grateful for their thoughtfulness and care during the whole
ordeal. In retrospect it was a little
terrifying, however, I think I was in shock at the time to notice.
While I was waiting, I went to the bathroom. It was then that
saw the damage for the first time, as there were no other mirrors up until then. They weren’t kidding, it was pretty bad.
I have a history with stitches and my lip. When I was four I
fell off my bike, essentially head first, and busted my lip open. I needed about six stitches on the inside of
my lip. I also have a history with
doctors, emergency rooms, etc. from my numerous nut allergy related
incidents. Consequently, I do not like
them. I have a huge phobia of hospitals/doctors. When I was four, they needed to papoose me in
order to be able to put the stitches in, because I was fighting the doctor so
relentlessly. I must admit I was a
little bit better behaved this time, no papoose required, but that was still not
a fun experience.
The doctor, who I knew personally (she is my Host Sister’s cousin),
first sat me down on a stool, cleaned the cut, which stung like hell, applied a
topical numbing agent, which dripped into my mouth numbing my tongue too (what
a strange feeling) and then gave me a shot of something: more numbing agent I
believe. She then began to stitch me
up. Again, this hurt like hell. I was
literally shaking. I also didn’t quite realize its just like sewing a shirt,
only its my lip. I may have cried. She may have (read: definitely) made fun of
me. The nurse aide asked me a few questions; my name, DOB, occupation,
religious affiliation (?), and just like that I was done. They gave me a referral to see the dentist
about my loose tooth on my way out and that was it. Nothing to sign, nothing to
pay, nothing else left to do, except walk clear back across Town to catch a van
home. This was only mildly embarrassing;
still covered in grass and dirt, in rugby clothes, with a HUGE stitched up
lip. I got many stares, but luckily it
was late at night and not many people were
The next day I had to go back into Town to the Peace Corps
approved dentist to get my loose tooth fixed.
I was just there about a month ago having my first cavity filled so when
I arrived they thought it was because a filling came out. That was until the dentist got a good look at
my very swollen, stitched up lip. In which she promptly replied, “oh lawd” and
started laughing. She apologized, but I didn’t mind much, it must have been
ridiculous looking.
This trip to Town was not a fun experience at all. Most
people stared, gawked, and a few even commented. Since most people do not know what rugby is,
I'm pretty sure they thought I was lying when I emphatically denied that my
“boyfriend beat me” and that it was in fact a rugby injury. After the appointment, in which the dentist
put a splint on my tooth, stabilizing it to the two teeth next to it, and
shaved it down (it got knocked out of its socket so it was longer than the
rest) to be level with the others so I could effectively close my mouth, I
didn’t stick around in Town long. I
wanted to get the hell out of there, and go hide inside my house until this
whole thing was gone and forgotten. It wasnt so much the appearance that bothered me, but the comments in reference to domestic violence that upset me. All I kept thinking was if I were back in the States, would that be everyone's first assumption as well? Unfortunately
that wasn’t entirely possible, as I would be speaking at the Adult and Continuing
Education Center’s Graduation Ceremony, the next day. Again more stares and inquiries and
disbelief.
The stitches needed to be left in for a week, and the stint on
my tooth a month. I could not wait to
get the stitches out. They itched and
drew a lot of attention. Luckily the
swelling wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, and my lip returned to its
normal size after only a few days. I had
set up an appointment with an ENT doctor, just to be sure everything was going
to heal correctly. I had wanted to get
my stitches removed by them, but I couldn’t wait. Instead, I walked down to the
Clinic in my village. More awkward
stares and inquiries. Again, I knew the
nurse-she was one of the participants in the IT classes that I teach through
the Adult and Continuing Education Center.
Again, I may have cried, and again she may have laughed. To be fair, she lied to me and admitted
it. I asked if removing the stitches
would hurt and she replied emphatically that no they wouldn’t. As she was ripping them out, I was flinching
in pain and crying. “You lied to me,
this hurts a lot” I said to her. And her
response was simply: “I know.” She did
offer me a parting gift: 5lbs of rice, 2lbs of milk powder, a bag of beans and 2lbs
of sugar; however I left it for someone who could really use it. As the clinic
was pretty busy that day, I’m sure someone else could have used it more than me.
Evidently they give packages of food staples to all patients that go to the
clinic. Something you certainly don’t get
when you go to the hospital in the States. All you get there is a fat bill.
What I'm let with is a huge gap in my front teeth, a thick bump in my lip from the buildup in scar tissue and a future root canal. All this, and the scar is barely visible. Ugh!
As this was all going down, I had numerous people ask me if I was going to quit rugby.
And to them I say:
When you get injured and someone tells you to stop playing rugby:
