The Toothpaste Saga

In my ongoing chronicle of the effects of age on my mind, I present the toothpaste adventure.

 

Three months ago I developed a strange itch on the left side of my waist. As usual when faced with a physical problem, I applied homemade creams and essential oils several times a day, but as time went by even I had to admit that nothing was helping.

 

Finally, at the end of those three months, I gave in and visited my GP, primarily to be sure that deep, severe, but sporadic itching wasn't a little-known sign of, say, cancer of the spleen. (Isn't that why we all finally submit ourselves to the medical establishment? To be sure that "it" isn't something serious?)

 

Anyway, after a cursory glance, Dr. Pauline said, I'll give you a steroid cream. That will do the job.

 

The cream was to be applied three times a day, which I did for two days, and then I moved to twice a day and then I almost forgot to put it on at all because the itching was gone. Score One for modern medicine, despite my underlying alternative belief that if you treat the symptoms of a rash or an itch, the problem will simply manifest in some other part of your body.

 

Anyway, the itch is much better. But when I packed recently for a four-day trip, I threw in the little tube of steroid cream, just to be on the safe side. I would tell you its name except that there were three names, and not one of them bore any resemblance to the English language.

 

My first evening of the trip, I brushed my teeth and went to bed.

 

The next day several of us were discussing—oh, I don't know—itches and rashes, skin problems, something, and I suddenly was struck dumb.

 

I remembered brushing my teeth the night before. I remembered taking the tube out of the black mesh bag in which I had packed my small supply of toiletries. But what struck me dumb was that I suddenly had a memory of double-bagging my toothpaste when I packed it. And I didn't remember double-un-bagging it the night before.

 

I raced to the bathroom and there, beside my toothbrush, was the tube of steroid cream. It did not say "Crest" on it. In fact, visually it bore little resemblance to the travel-tube of Crest that I could see, still safely double-wrapped, in the black net bag. They were both small tubes. That's my only excuse.

 

Now, I know you're going to ask me "what about the taste? Didn't you notice that it didn't taste like toothpaste?

 

And when you make me think of it, I have to acknowledge that it didn't have that typical minty, slightly sweet flavour. But at home (when not traveling) I brush with an essential oil toothpaste that is bland and non-minty. So the steroid cream just tasted like home.

 

On the bright side, any itching of the gums—any mouth ailments at all—that I might have suffered from have now been cured.

 

 

Copyright 2013 Ann Tudor

www.anntudor.ca
http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com