(via writeoneleaf)
Yeah. I always hated going to the dentist. Who doesn’t hate going to the dentist? But I had this one dentist… he was the only dentist in town who would see kids. I don’t think he was a pediatric dentist. Far from it. But he would see kids, so I went to this guy.
No, I don’t remember his name. If I did remember his name I would tell you his name because nobody should be going to see this dentist.
He would load me up with novocaine or lydacaine or whatever kind of caine they were giving at the dentist’s office that day, and he’d wait, and he’d come back and start digging. And when he started digging he always told me to let him know if I could still feel anything. And always. Always I could still feel something. And not just something, but searing, stabbing pain.
So I let him know.
Usually I first let him know by reflex, my body jumping six inches or so in his chair, and I’d make a noise something like “Unkhk.” And he’d kind of ignore it at first, some frustration in his eyes, and when it happened again he’d ask if I still could feel that.
Well, yes, dammit, that hurts like hell.
So he’d sigh and drop his tools into a tray as if I was just being a pain in the ass, and they’d apply more of the novocaine and I’d wait some more and he’d come back again and I’d still feel it exactly as painful as before, except now my face was feeling more and more as if it were missing. Can’t feel face. Still pain. No face.
So we did this two or three more times. And he’d get more and more frustrated. And he’d toss his tools with a little more gusto and when I jumped he’d sigh with ever more aplomb. Until finally I’d just let myself relax as much as i possibly could and I wouldn’t let on that it still hurt like hell because the last thing I needed was another injection of that crap that wasn’t working in the first place.
I don’t know why I still had pain. And frankly I don’t care. And the asshole dentist didn’t seem to care either. As far as he was concerned, I was a problem, and you could see it on his face, and you could hear it in his voice, and I could feel it in my head. He was impatient with my pain and impatient with his dental assistants and impatient with the world.
Damn. I still hate going to the dentist. Anymore I let them gas me up because I’m so worked up by the time I sit down in the chair that I’m pretty sure I could create phantom pain. Or I could create phantom phantoms. But the gas lets me relax and lose myself to whatever they have on the television.
Look! Gingivitis! That’s awesome!
