by Irini Kotroni

Created on: June 24, 2010   Last Updated: January 04, 2011

Dentists. The very word hangs over my head like a black cloud. I glance at my watch, this time in three hours I will be on my way for my appointment. My tongue massages the aching tooth in the hope of an instant miracle cure, anything rather than have to keep this appointment.  It didn’t work.  Maybe the tooth will drop out of its own accord and I won’t have to have it pulled; I doubt it. I glance at my watch again, this time in three hours I will be in the chair.  Best not think about that; do something positive like going and counting the flies in the garden.  Done that, it’s windy; the flies had been blown away.

I glance at my watch again, this time in three hours it will be over and done with.  If I had gone to the dentist last week when the tooth first started to ache I wouldn’t be going through this today; I remind myself to forget the hindsight and stop looking at the watch.

The hours pass all too quickly, suddenly I was on my way.  I could hear something ‘knocking’ under the car hood.  That’s all I need; the car to breakdown.  The voice of my yoga teacher comes into my head; take deep breaths, inhale slowly and deeply, and exhale slowly and deeply.  That worked and ‘yippee’ the knocking noise has stopped; hmm, it wasn’t the car, it was my knees developing a drum rhythm of their own.  I remind myself with the mantra, breathe deeply, breathe deeply.

My tongue checks the tooth, for a moment there isn’t any pain; great I can turn the car round and get on with my life.  Drat, the throbbing ache returns and with heavy heart I turn into the dentist’s car park.

Slowly I drag myself into his reception area.  The receptionist greets me with a wide welcoming smile, exposing perfect white teeth that make me horribly aware of my own mouth containing years of fillings. 

‘Dentist won’t be long, you can go in next’.  Next?   I need at least half an hour to read the dog-eared magazines and psyche myself ready for the ordeal of tooth versus extracting tool.  From the direction of the surgery I could hear the high pitched whine of the drill and my imagination goes into overtime.  I wonder if there is a back entrance so that the victim in the chair doesn’t have to walk through reception with a distorted face of bleeding mouth and gums.

The surgery door opens, my inquisitor greets me with

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