After years of avoiding the dentist, I have finally come round to sitting in the scooped-out chair to have my pearly whites poked and prodded (and scored and drilled) back into some form of palliative health. I (like so many others) don’t like the dentist—but I do like the gas. Thus far, with the aid of the nitrous, I have had two root canals, two fillings, and some sort of all-round scraping/scaling rigmarole that I had wished to be unconscious for, but wasn’t, all in the last three weeks. Today I go for another filling, and then we get to talk about having what’s left of my wisdom teeth removed. Oh, joy. Oh, bliss.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have left so long between visits.


~ by A Mundi on November 19, 2009.

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