Following last weeks little accident I have finally been to the dentist.

Visiting the dentist is not something I particularly enjoy, as it is one of lifes irrational fears. Like really tall women, wasps and nuclear weapons.

As I lay back into the chair I began to pray for a swift end to the treatment. I carefully explained to my dentist that I had chipped a bit off the side of my tooth where I have an old filling, and she had a quick root around in my mouth, much like dentists tend to do.

“Oh, I see what you’ve done, you chipped off the side of your tooth where you’ve got that old filling.” she stated, calling on all twenty minutes of her dentistry schooling.

“aas wo aye sai…” I pointed out.

“Right, we’re going to trim a bit off that filling, so we can bond a new one. There’s no decay, so we won’t bother with numbing it first. It should be fine.”

Should?

SHOULD?!

Having a dentist tell you that what they are not anaesthetising you because it should be fine, is like being told not to worry because your parachute should open. ‘Should’ is not sufficient. I want to know that every conceivable precaution has been taken. I was just about to make this point when she began drilling.

It is difficult to bring attention to your perfectly valid point, clearly and concisely, when your mouth contains two cotton wool balls, part of a woman’s latex-covered hand and at least two medical instruments.

“Errrrr…” I began, looking directly at her through the nifty safety spectacles the had given me. This got her attention. She stopped drilling and looked at me.

“Is it hurting already?” she asked, with a disdainfully questioning look that I imagine all Jehovah’s Witnesses are quite familiar with.

A closed question.

Not, “What is the problem?” or “How much does it hurt?” but a question that made it impossible for me to give her anything other than the one word answer she wanted.

Perhaps she had been properly trained after all?

She probably skipped the lecture on “How to anaesthetise your patient to your satisfaction, and more importantly, theirs.” but she was clearly present and correct during the all important, “Time is Money: Stop you patient asking stupid questions when the meter is running.”

“errr, oooo..” I responded, shaking my head and wondering if I could possibly make my point using only vowel sounds.

With that she drilled onwards, until the drilling was complete and a new filling could be added.

No, it did not physically hurt, but that is not the point. It COULD have hurt, and so the pain I suffered was purely psychological, which as anyone who has yet to suffer any real physical pain will tell you, is much much worse.

It is episodes like this that ensure I continue to have nightmares about receiving dental treatment from a six foot two female dentist in a wasp infested surgery during a nuclear holocaust.

No tags