D Minus 17 Hours (not that I’m counting)

Open up and say AAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGHHHHH!!!!!This will be me tomorrow. No, not the masked bandit inflicting pain and making off with my hard-earned cash, but the prone victim, terror-struck, frozen in place in hopes that her attacker will get bored and go away.

It’s been, oh, a while since I last sat in The Chair. I’ve heard rumours about a wonderful new invention called the ultrasonic scaler, but I’ll believe when I see it. Luckily I’m not prone to cavities (I have zero fillings…today) but the vigorous scraping my teeth always need will be bad enough.

I’ve been preparing with diligent flossing and even more diligent denial, but the latter is starting to fail me now. It looks like it’s going to be a white knuckle ride, but that will make the high of surviving my dental ordeal that much higher. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.


3 comments on “D Minus 17 Hours (not that I’m counting)

  1. ed says:

    Jesus, man. I hear ya big time. I'm about to head to the Chair soon myself after an extended hiatus and I'm prepared to be subjected to the greatest lie of all time: “This won't hurt a bit.”

  2. Talmida says:

    I am a total dentistry-phobe. What helps? Bring a walkman/mp3 player with some serious rock on it.
    Good luck.

  3. Sylvia says:

    Thanks. Yes, mp3 player, rosary, aromatherapy, affirmations, acupressure, I'm throwing everything I've got at it, and I'll probably still find myself clutching the armrests like I'm on a plane going down.
    After reading that article on introversion I now think part of the problem is that I'm also expected to make small talk while they filet my gums. They won't let me just dissociate outa there but insist on asking me about my job. I know they're just being polite. Polite extroverts. Sigh.

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