A short while after my family arrived at R.C.A.F. Station 2(F)Wing in Grostenquin, France, in 1960 when I was 13, I ran my tongue back and forth across the roof of my mouth. I couldn't be sure, but it really felt like something was stuck there, and I couldn't get it off.
A few days later, I got up enough nerve to ask my dad what it was.
He shone a flashlight into my mouth as I held my head back. Then he remarked, "I think it's a tooth."
"What?" I frowned. "How can I have a tooth growing through the roof of my mouth?"
Dad shrugged. "I'll get an appointment with the base dentist, and we'll see what he thinks."
"It's a tooth, all right," the dentist said. "Something like this is quite rare, but not unheard of. Some young children often have extra teeth growing through places where they shouldn't, and it can also happen to adults. We’ll put you to sleep, and then surgically remove it. You'll have stitches that'll dissolve in about a week or so, and then everything will be all right."
Once the dentist had me ready for surgery, he placed a gas mask over my mouth and nose and turned it on. "All right, Michael -- breathe in slowly."
I did so, and all at once felt like I was choking. My hand reached for the mask, but then dropped into my lap as the gas quickly took effect and I lost consciousness.
I awoke some time later.
Waves of nausea swept over me, and I felt like I was going to be sick.
"Easy, son," the dentist cautioned. "Come lie down in this room until you feel like you can walk without any problem. It'll take a short while for the effects of the gas to wear off."
The dentist and his assistant guided me from the chair.
Just as we reached the door, I retched.
I vomited onto the floor, and then felt my stomach heave two more times. But, we had reached a cot and I collapsed onto it, and then slipped into sleep again.
I was totally unaware of anyone cleaning up the mess.
