Don’t Damn Me!

The small plastic chair I’m seated on is uncomfortable, unsteady and situated too close to the surgery. The sound of drilling fills my eardrums. Even over the sound of my MP3 player, on which I can’t find a single song I want to listen to. My mind is already occupied with thoughts of painful prodding, pushing and pulling, not to mention the dreaded drill and the destruction it will cause. My stomach is lurching and my heart beating violently in my chest, like the drums of a cannibalistic tribe in an old Tarzan film.

It was still early in the morning, and as I made my way to the building, I walked slowly, as if trying to prolong the inevitable. I wasn’t fooled though and my body fought back with a quickened pulse and a tightening of my airways. I was expecting it. The air around me was cold, but I couldn’t feel it as my core temperature rose, forming a line of sweat across my brow. My breathing formed a thick mist in the air in front of me, like the fog that often gathered at haunted castles in any given Hammer Horror production.

The appointment was for 9 AM and ironically I was early, my own punctuality serving as some kind of self-loathing treachery. Without giving myself the chance to walk on by the large, blue doors, I walked through and introduced myself to the young woman behind the desk. She smiled, pleasantly, as she looked for the appointment on the computer. Her teeth gleamed white, forming a perfect symbiotic sparkle with the whites of her eyes. A cat probably smiles, as it toys with its prey, before finally devouring it.

“Just go into the waiting room Paul,” she guided, pointing the way with a perfectly manicured fingertip, “She won’t be long.”

On any other day, under any other circumstances, I might have been more appreciative of the lustrous, fiery, scarlet tresses, her hair formed. Not today though. Today it was too close to the colour of blood. My stomach tussled and turned, as I walked into the empty waiting room. The room was dark. Perhaps an omen?

I switched on the light, and headed for the far corner of the room. As I sank into the robust leather chair, I exhaled deeply and closed my eyes. No turning back. With a hurried flick of my left wrist, I pushed the in-line volume slider on my headphones up to MAX. I moved the same hand into the pocket of my coat, and began clicking the “Next” button on my mp3 player, with my fore-finger. My eyes darted, nervously around the room. The colours, shapes and even artwork on the wall, were lost on me. I saw no beauty. A frustration took hold of me, as I continually flicked through the countless tracks. 30GB of music and I couldn’t find a single song I wanted to listen to. The wait seemed like an eternity. Lonely. Bleak. Foreboding.

The Dentist popped her petite head around the doorway, calling my name with a chirpy tone I couldn’t – nor did I want to – appreciate. This is it. I smiled back, my heart not in it. Apprehensively I forced myself out of the chair.

I followed her for two flights of stairs, to a small, clinical and claustrophobic room. A cold, steel table sat beside the dental chair. On it, shimmering wickedly, like tools of the Inquisition, lay a variety of metallic drill-bits, prongs and scrapers. My chest began to pound, violently. As I took my place on the chair, I felt my blood pump forcefully in my veins. The padding on the chair masked its discomfort.

I twisted, turned and tensed, as I struggled to get into position. My neck ached, my arms unable to find a balance on the rests. My stomach lurched, mind racing through things I’d rather not think about. The Dentist spoke, but I didn’t really hear what she said.

As I laid there on the chair, lowered down like a coffin to the grave, she moved a powerful, overhead light so that it was beaming directly into my face, stinging my eyes. Confess your sins, you must confess your sins! I was already thinking of the pain. The needle. The drill. The pushing, prodding and pulling. I could feel my pulse in my clenched fists, as they gripped onto the side of my jeans.

“I’m just going to numb your gums up.” She said it with an audible smile. I’m glad the thought pleases you so much!

I took a deep breath. Exhaled deeply as I stretched my mouth wide to allow the violation.

I gripped tighter with my fists. Held my breath for what seemed like an eternity. The needle plunged into my vulnerable gums, as I lay terrified, waiting for the excruciating agony.

I sighed with relief, silently, as the needle was finally removed from my mouth. Is that it? That’s it!

But before I had a chance to rejoice, I heard the drill. It revved at a pitch similar to that of someone scraping their fingernails along a blackboard. I winced at the thought. I’m not sure which was more sickening. The torturous grind and screech of the drill pulverising the enamel of my tooth, or the smell of said enamel as it dissipated into the air around me, burned by the friction of the drill. My stomach contorted into shapes an Olympic diver would have been proud of.

There was no pain as yet, but I knew it would come. The muscles of my neck throbbed, as I held it stiffly, ready to pull it away when the pain began. My right forearm was readied too, I would use that to catch her attention. She would see my arm waving desperately, then stop the drill. That way there would be less chance of the drill ripping through my gums, as I jerked my head away like a petulant child. I hope.

“OK. I’m just going to take a cast, so we can fit a temporary crown, then we’re done.”

Her voice was still chirpy, but this time I was more appreciative. Her words seemed to flutter in the air like little summer butterflies, then massage my temples as they gently sank into and soothed my sub-conscious mind. My sigh of relief must have been audible, my body, relaxing from its fight-or-flight pre-emptive posture. must have been visible. But no-one mentioned it.

I almost gagged as the cast was placed over my teeth, the abundance of what felt and tasted like putty, oozing out onto the back of my tongue. But I soldiered through. The temporary crown was fitted, and as the overhead light was moved away I leapt to my feet in a move that defied my size and weight. I don’t really remember what words were exchanged, but I do know that my voice was uplifted and the smile I returned was heartfelt and accompanied by a relieved and grateful sparkle in my eyes.

As I sit here now, in the waiting room, to get the temporary crown re-fitted, after an over-zealous bite, I feel my pulse, pounding in my fists, again.

The small plastic chair I’m seated on is uncomfortable, unsteady and situated too close to the surgery. The sound of drilling fills my eardrums. Even over the sound of my MP3 player, on which I can’t find a single song I want to listen to. My mind is already occupied with thoughts of painful prodding, pushing and pulling, not to mention the dreaded drill and the destruction it will cause. My stomach is lurching and my heart beating violently in my chest, like the drums of a cannibalistic tribe in an old Tarzan film.

The End.