It’s that time again. Drilling, scraping and loads of slobbering “aaaaah”s. The butterflies in my tummy are working up a frenzy as I prepare to gaze into that strange light not knowing how much pain this will cause me.

My dentist is lovely. She is a mum and an acquaintance, so no stranger. But she still has that curved instrument of torture. You know the one. It’s curved and sharp and she prods it into my sore sore tooth. Aaaaaah. Easy lady.

Then there’s the needle which is ok because I know it’s going to do its best to take away the pain of the… dah…. dah…. dah… drill. High pitched mean old thing. It even sounds scary. You can’t scream because it is wedged in your drooling mouth, you just have to let your eyes do the talking or weeping.

One of the worst things is the feeling of drowning. When the suction is way over on the table and you’re trying not to swallow or drown but end up doing a weird kinda gargling thing.

The drill’s pressure on the sore tooth is distressing as there’s always a spot the anesthetic can’t reach. More scraping, more drilling.

Then comes the filling itself. It tastes like Wartkill; bitter and wrong and it is a chemical thing. I hate chemicals but it’s better than the drill and it signals the end of the session. You can only pray that you only need one filling this time and that the rest of the teeth will hang in there for a year or so.

As she shoves the mucky putty up my tooth, my toes begin to wriggle and I try to smile but I really just want to run out screaming. Then it’s over and it’s payment time.

The hip pocket sadly sags as much as my half-face. I can only imagine what I look like to the dental nurse. Drooling, spitting, biting the side of my mouth, I try and make conversation.

Once done, I push the glass door and squint into the bright light of day, put on my sunnies and I do a kinda wobbly dash to the car.

One day, they’ll have a laser drill, I tell myself. One day you’ll be decay-free in under 5 mins. or even through a drive-thru… one day…

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