Dental torture

Today I had to go to the dentist. I hate the dentist, in fact I am terrified. It is right up there at the top of my most feared list, right after public speaking and karaoke.

I had a 90-minute appointment, which I was absolutely dreading. This would be the final long appointment for what is the second root canal on this same tooth, courtesy of a festering cavity ravaged by pregnancy hormones. After the hours and hours of time I have spent having treatment on this tooth you would think I would be somewhat at ease with dental proceedings by now, but no, I have found my thought processes run pretty much the same way each time.

Usually the freak-out starts well before I arrive at the dentist, culminating nicely into a full blown stomach ache with a light headed kind of feeling whilst I am sitting in the waiting room. And my inner dialogue (like that? It’s Eckhart) is saying quite rationally “OK, I am sick, that’s it, cancel it- you are going to have to reschedule!” I sit there making small talk with the receptionist, appearing totally at ease, betrayed only by my stiffly crossed arms and a jittering right foot.

When I am called into the room, the chair, I feel as though I am walking to my execution. I force myself to sit down when all my instincts are shouting “RUN, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!!” The bib thing is clipped on, the chair is slowly going back and I start to feel queasy. Is it too late to back out?

The dentist brandishes a massive needle and I try pretend that I am fine with her stabbing me in the gum. And then the numbing sensation begins. My lip. My cheek. My nostril. My chin. Oh my god, she has INJECTED TOO MUCH!! My head is going numb! I think my vision is going black! I can’t breathe! She has anaesthetised my optic nerve, my nasal passages! I am BLINDED, I am SUFFOCATING!!!!!

Convinced I am going to die, I wonder if I should say something. BUt of course my mouth is full of instruments and a dentists arm up to the elbow. Not to mention the wierd sucker thingy that sounds a bit like someone hawking back mucous. I begin to feel sick.

Oh my goodness, I think I am going to vomit. A wave of nausea distracts me from my death-by-anaesthetised-nostrils, and I ponder the logistics of being sick whilst receiving dental treatment. Envisaging some sort of fountain scenario, I realise that my heart rate is about double that of a normal healthy adult. Possibly even triple.

Oh crap, now i am having a heart attack! A heart attack at 31, what are the odds?? I always knew I wasn’t long for this world, though I thought I would go by cancer of the belly button, or something equally obscure- maybe karoake induced cardiac arrest. I picture myself on stage, like a rabbit in the headlights, keeling over dramatically, clutching the microphone to my heart in demise. It strikes me as incredibly funny.

Oh no, I am going to laugh! And I might inhale the dentists instrument! Death by dentist- I knew it! Quick, think of something not funny! THINK OF SOMETHING NOT FUNNY!!!!!

The dentist asks me if I am okay. I assure her I AM FINE. She asks me if I need the toilet. I tell her I don’t. And I didn’t until she asked me. Now I really, really need the toilet.

The dentist continues digging around in my mouth, and I become convinced that I am starting to feel it. I wait for a sharp stab of pain, tensed in anticipation. Yes, I can definitely feel something! It is not my imagination! Eyeing the clock I wonder how much more torture I can bear. Begin to wonder whether death by dentist is such a bad idea. I JUST WANT THIS HELL TO BE OVER!!!!

And eventually, after what seems like a decade, it IS over. I rinse my mouth, dribbling minty water down my chin on the numb side, and leave the dental torture chamber with an overwhelming feeling of relief, suppressing the urge to break into a frantic run. I stand, shell shocked, blinking in the sunlight, with a completely numb face and a throbbing tooth- oh the irony! If it was someone else it might even be funny.