DDS

I hate the dentist. I hate the dentist so much I didn't go for a year. I hate the dentist so much I have three cavities.

Today, a week after my first routine check-up in a year, I got a cavity filled. Just one of the three. They like to spread these things out at Dr. Patel's office.

When I say 'I got a cavity filled' it sounds like a routine procedure. Let me assure you, today was anything but routine. I waited for my dentist, an ambiguously aged Indian man who insists on spiking the hair above his forehead, even though it is four inches too long for this purpose. You know you are too old to spike your hair when there are visible grays.

He waltzes in after causing what only sounded like innumerable pain in the office to my right, and without much warning jammed a HUGE needle into my lower jaw.

Oh, hi. Didn't see you there. Oh, you're gonna keep that in there for a minute? Gotta jiggle my cheek to make sure you get it deep enough in there? Sweet. I'll just be here waiting for you to take it out. No, no, take your time. It's no problem, really.

He disappears as quickly as he arrived with a quick "Sorry!"

I proceed to have a panic attack and uncontrollable tears roll down my face as I imagine the horrors that await me once he comes back to feed upon the poor tooth he just paralyzed. I'm done for. The loop of anxiety overtakes me: He is going to fill a cavity. OH MY GOD he is going to drill in my mouth. Okay, think about something else. Something else. WHY CAN'T I THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE. It's just a cavity; people do this all the time. OH MY GOD HE IS GOING TO DRILL IN MY MOUTH.

Suddenly, the incredibly nice secretary shows up (she likely heard my sobs from down the hall) and asks me if I want her to turn the air on, or if I would like some soda. How can she think of room temperature at a time like this? What does soda have to do with anything? I'm not overheating, I'm simply having a panic attack.

Although her adult braces made me uncomfortable (adult-anything for that matter, is disastrous. Adult acne, adult onset diabetes, you name it), I was not about to be rude to her, so I let her turn on the air conditioning. This mistake is what caught me up in a feverish dance of indecisiveness. Was I overheating? Sure. Sweatshirt off. Shivers. Well, I guess it's too cold to overheat. Sweatshirt on. Why am I sweating? And so on...

Finally, he returns. I have just gotten my tears under control and the left side of my face is sufficiently numb when he drills away like a happy little dwarf mining rubies. Like all anxiously anticipated events, the actual drilling was far less traumatic than my 20 minutes of incessant blubbering - which lead me to the sad realization that at age 18 I am still not fit to visit the dentist on my own.

As I was leaving, someone mentioned to me that I needed to book an appointment for my next two cavities to be filled.

"You better give me drugs next time unless you want another scene like that!"

Heigh ho, heigh ho! Off to kill Tate we go...