Root canal

I don’t think that I could ever be a secret agent. I have the capabilities (brains and brawn) but I don’t endure pain very well.
If captured and tortured, I would spill the beans faster than you could say “no new taxes”.
I cannot help it, when it comes to physical discomfort I am a sissy!

A few days ago I had to go to the dentist for a toothache.
Bad news, he said after poking into my mouth. You have an infected tooth and you need a root canal.
Upon hearing this masochists no doubts would rejoice; not me. When I hear “root canal”, I get the impulse to run and hide. And I did.
I don’t like strangers to stick sharp or pointed objects in my mouth. It makes me nervous.

But my tooth imperatively demanded attention, and a few days later I reluctantly went back to my dentist to meekly submit to his whims.

You look a little nervous he said, would you like some Valium?
Gladly doctor, a joint might also be helpful.
I didn’t say the latter of course, but I meant it. To me, that would be the ideal time to take a few puffs of locoweed, don’t you think?

Anyway, my dentist and his accomplice (they called him “assistant”) strapped me to a chair and prepared me for surgery.

I told them that I didn’t care for pain, and to use as much anesthetic as the law allowed.
Don’t worry they said, you won’t feel a thing.
A few minutes later, my upper right jaw seemed to have dematerialized. I knew that it was still there, but it had become totally desensitized.

The torturer and his Marty Feldman-like assistant put a bib on me and gave me dark glasses to wear. I was ready for butchering.

After a few tense minutes I heard the sound of scrapping, filing, and the disturbing hissing of a high-speed drill. And it was coming out of my mouth!
Under induced euphoria, I grinned and bore. Actually I bore more than I grinned.
I tried to think happy thoughts. Besides Pasta alla Milanese, I couldn’t come up with anything.

While this was happening, I heard the assistant starting a casual conversation with the receptionist.
This I don’t like. When somebody is dealing with my body parts, I don’t want any distraction for the operating team. But with my mouth invaded by foreign parts and substances I couldn’t say anything.

After I while I caught a whiff of some acrid smoke.

OK, we are done for today, said the dentist.
Good!
But, I need to tell you that you have a cracked tooth. I cannot complete the entire procedure. We will probably have to pull out the damaged tooth.

Arrrghhh!!

Oh Mighty God of Dentistry, stop chasing the Wood Nymphs and pay attention to me! I need help!

Alain

 

 

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