Today I had an appointment at my dentist’s. I had been looking forward to this for quite a while because it was a special treat. Or treatment, if you like. A root canal treatment. Not that I had been having any problems with the tooth in question. Not at all. There was just a ‘shadow’ on the X-ray which ‘demanded further action’. According to the expert whom I had to see because of an application to get dental crowns, that is. My health insurance also proved very generous. Instead of seven crowns they wanted to give me eleven. Yes, you’ve got that right. More. Maybe they thought because I had hardly needed their service during the last 30 years I was entitled to this little bonus. But only in exchange for the root canal treatment and the removal of my last wisdom tooth*, they insisted. Both of which have got nothing to do with the crowns, just for the record.
Anyway, there I was after a day of really exciting work (read: madhouse – my boss’ last working day before he went on holiday). This was my second helping already. The week before my dentist decided to do three inlays. I left the place being almost a kilo heavier than before.
For today, I had expected the following scenario:
I am lying on my back like a giant turtle (and almost as helpless), waiting for the anesthetic to work its wonders and the fun to start.
My dentist has a picture of a summer sky and meadow stuck to the ceiling to distract the poor victim. As I had taken my glasses off for the treatment, all I could see of it was a rather blurred blue shape. Not very entertaining. Why not use the time for making plans about some of my unfinished projects, then? Unfortunately, lying on the chair didn’t really stimulate my creative juices. Dave was nowhere to be found, either. Afraid of the dentist?
Four hours later. The anesthetic’s still working. If I’m lucky, it’ll be gone by next morning. In the meantime, I’ve already tried to eat something. Carefully, of course. A little glass of babies’ pear mousse (from 4 months of age onwards – yes, I can have it as I’m slightly older). Drinking was tricky, as you can imagine.
But no such things. No anesthetic, because the nerve was already dead. Just the sound of the drilling (not the high pitched one, but the big machinery). It was all over in just ten minutes. Including the replacement of an inlay I lost this morning.
Now it’s only a couple more appointments until the final inlay will be in its place.
No suffering. How utterly disappointing.
I had the pear mousse, though.
*Doesn’t sound good? I’ll spare you the details but it’ll be like ‘Oh, Martin, thou hast cleft my tooth in twain’ should it finally happen. No, wait – that was Hamlet with his dear mums’ heart. Sorry. Still somewhat confused.