The Terrible Tooth

What did the Judge say to the Dentist?
“Do you swear to tell the tooth, the whole tooth, and nothing but the tooth?”

That is one of daughter’s favourite jokes, and the last time she lay in her dentists chair for a check up, she amused him with it so, that he rewarded her with a genuine laugh – I haven’t heard him laugh before. But that’s probably because I have been the one in the chair – although I am always pleasant and friendly. I just don’t make small talk or jokes – being in that chair, for me, is no laughing matter.

As per an article I wrote recently, which you can read here, my life is sometimes a song – and the last 24 hours have been a mix between ‘Highway to Hell’, and ‘Pain’.

Toothache. Not much worse, for me. I have a high pain threshold, but when it comes to these little white things in my mouth, I revert to being a baby. (A dentist’s appointment does pretty much the same thing.)

The offending tooth started niggling yesterday morning, and by last night was full blown agony. I didn’t sleep much.

A trip to the doctor this morning (a place I rarely visit for myself) confirmed an abscess – and produced a script for two antibiotics and a pain killer. Problem not solved as yet – these things take time. Sigh.

My own fault, really. If I would just pay more regular visits to the dentist, I probably wouldn’t be in the agony I’m in now. This tooth has been a problem before – in fact, it flares up every six months or so. My last ‘dental visit torture’ was about three years ago.

Usually, the tooth can be placated with an anti-inflammatory, and rights itself after a couple of days. Not this time. I suppose this time I will be forced to face the Dentist Demon and get it seen to – once the abscess is cleared, of course.

I’m still not entirely sure why I am so afraid of a Dentist. It’s never personal – they’ve all been really nice men, from what I can remember. (I’ve only ever had two.) The one from my younger years was a kind, older man (unless I have blocked something out from childhood); but I am told that when he would see my name in his appointment book, he’d be the one taking the pain medication ahead of time. (Apparently, I kicked him once, at about age three. I have an excellent memory. This, I do not recall.)

(This is probably a badly written blog. I wish I could blame it on painkillers – but I still have half an hour before I am allowed the next lot. We’ll blame the pain – and the not so pearly-white monster that has decided that it will no longer have mercy on me.)

The strange thing is that on the last few forced trips, the ‘new’ dentist has not caused me one iota of pain – and he’s really easy on the eyes. So what is with this mental block against his services? Am I alone in my irrational fear? Is it really irrational? Or is there just something ‘Dark’ about a Dentist? Hmmmmm.

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