Be glad there aren't pictures

It seems unfair of me not to update after mentioning I was getting a gum graft (ah, sorry, subepithelial connective tissue graft), but as it turns out, my AC adapter for my laptop broke the day of my surgery. So I wasn't even left with the internet to help me through my pain.

And pain there was, along with much disgust. The procedure involved scraping down my gums into a huge flap, which I could feel against the side of my mouth. As it was hanging down. Yeah. Revolting.

The surgery went well, though, I guess; I had a little flower of brilliant purple on the inside of my lip, and even the outside of my chin turned a little grey, but I wasn't too concerned. My periodontist had warned me this often happens, especially in small women.

When I went to my check-up today, however, I was told that I had to come back to get my gums trimmed.

Oh.

Gross.

These are not fingernails, people. Nor hedges.

Not only that, but since it hurt so long for me, especially in the mornings, my periodontist thinks I must clench my teeth in my sleep.

Goodie.

In which I ask silly questions and get my mouth cut open

At around 8:45 this morning, I got a pleasant surprise: the periodontist, who just two days earlier had no openings before September, could see me this afternoon at 3pm for a consultation. Yes!

I was thrilled, since my dentist's previously vague mentions of "you might consider a gum graft in the future" had recently turned into more sinister warnings such as "you should definitely get this done before you leave for France, as you only have 1mm left of gum tissue on this tooth."

I scrambled to get my insurance information in order before leaving for work, and left with plenty of time to fill out the requisite paperwork. I arrived, handed over my X-rays and exchanged them for a standard (if dental-oriented) questionnaire.

Filling it out went smoothly, but one question made me pause: Have you ever had periodontal treatment?

What all is encompassed in periodontics, anyway? I had had my wisdom teeth removed, and wasn't sure if I ought to mention that. I decided to ask at the counter.

"Does getting your wisdom teeth out count as periodontal treatment?" I asked.

"Oh, no," replied the receptionist, "that's oral surgery."

The two were apparently entirely separate fields, and here I had conflated them the entire time! I guess anyone who cuts open my mouth falls into the same category for me.

"So....what's someone called who preforms oral surgery?"

The receptionist stared at me like I was from another planet.

"Excuse me?"

"You know...instead of periodontist."

"Oh," she said, still looking a little put off. "Nothing, just an oral surgeon."

This exchange made me wonder--have a reached an age where it's unacceptable for me to ask questions? Children's curiosity is indulged, and asking questions is even encouraged, but when an adult shows a desire to learn more about a situation or process, it is frowned upon. Why is that? Perhaps it is seen as showing weakness, but it is foolish to think that we've learned everything there is to know about life, even everyday life, by the time we're in our 20's. It's certainly a shame. I am going to make a concerted effort not to disparage others' questions in the future.

Comment dit-on << sigh of relief >> ?

Great news: my Visa came today, after only a one-week wait as opposed to the predicted two! At this rate, the French are shaping up to be as efficient as the Germans!

Today is also, incidentally, the one-year anniversary of my departure from Germany and arrival in Italy. It doesn't feel like that long ago that I was riding through the Swiss Alps, alternately guilting my fellow passengers into helping me with my bags and haphazardly tossing them down the train steps at every transfer. Not to mention accidentally packing my room key in Tübingen, which caused quite a furor as I was attempting to check out; I then had my first experience with the Poste Italiane when I mailed it back to the Hausmeister. Then when I arrived in Parma, I feared myself to be utterly incapable of leaving (or at least locking) my apartment, as I was apparently lacking the magic Italian touch to manipulate the old-school, pronged key...I could struggle with it until my hand hurt without effect, while my advisor could make it pop open with a simple turn of his wrist.

Yes, July 31, 2008, was surely an eventful day. I look forward to more of them!

"Language gauze" just doesn't have the same ring to it

I had my first embarrassing misunderstanding before even leaving the country.

I went to Boston on Friday to try to get my Visa for France. I brought everything possible, from a form not even listed on the consulate website (which I needed), to an express mail envelope (which I did not need) and my latest pay stubs (ditto). I had had to go to the Italian consulate in Frankfurt twice to get my Italian Visa, and was not interested in scheduling a later appointment, or God forbid being told I had to go to Chicago.

To my surprise, things seemed to go rather smoothly. The girl manning the window was so seamlessly bilingual, I couldn't tell if she was American or French. She asked for a few of my documents in English, then, still looking down, continued in French.

"Pourquoi tu as besoin d'un visa ? Tu vas étudier en France ?" (Why do you need a visa? Are you going to study in France?)

Or so I thought I heard through the thick pane of glass.

"Ah...n-non," I stammered, "....je...je s-serai assist--"

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I was talking to someone back here," she said.

I blushed. Of course. I should have known she would never tutoyer with me, even if she was young.

Even after profuse apologies on both sides, I still felt slightly embarrassed; I had forgotten the deer-in-headlights look and feel questions in a foreign language can cause me, and was dismayed at my inability to get out such a simple sentence.

English, French, and German all have very similar variants of the term "language barrier" (Sprachbarriere and barrière de la langue). This is unsurprising, as it can indeed feel as if a wall is erected between two people when neither speaks the other's language. However, even with foreign languages I know, I still feel as if there is some sort of screen or veil between me and my interlocutor: a filter which partially blocks both incoming and outgoing communication. Or sometimes just gauze over my ears, muffling everything around me.

Forcing words through the screen and intently listening through the gauze are far from without their rewards--what better way to experience others at their most genuine?--but there is no denying that it is exhausting. I really hope I am prepared for Round 3.

A title 18 months in the making

The title of this blog would have been far more apt around February of last year, as it refers to a few of my favorite German words: Naktschnecken, Schildkröten, and Regenbogenhäute. Slugs, turtles, and irises to those of us whose mother tongue affords us less literal terminology. I named it thus, however, in anticipation for my move to Paris in September, which I hope to document in this blog. Discovering lingusitic and cultural differences is the most stimulating part of living abroad for me, and these words represent just how eye-opening the learning of a simple word or turn of phrase can be.

Ergo: Naked Snails, Shield-toads, and Rainbow Skins. Viel Spaß damit :)