I had made an appointment for Tuesday to have my wisdom tooth out, but couldn't go in the end as Missis was away. I re-made the appointment for yesterday, and Missis very kindly said she would take me and bring me back again.
Then at about 10am Mr O rang me and said he would take half a day at work. I can't tell you the joy that flooded over me. Mr O is my rock, never more so than at times like this. I mucked the horses out, then went in and tidied up as much as I could before Mr O arrived and it was time to leave for the dreaded appointment.
I let them know I'd arrived and was sent to the waiting room. After a while a dark haired woman came out and called me into the consulting room. I thought, "She looks kind, I'm sure she'll be nice to me." I walked confidently into the room, only to find she was the assistant, and the spanish woman I'd seen last time was still there. I never got a sighting of her name badge, so for arguement's sake, we'll call her Torquemada. I noticed she had a cap, mask and gown on. This is so that you can't recognise her in the street and leap on her.
I laid down in the chair, that most prone of positions, so that you only glimpse the needle briefly over your right shoulder, before she inserts it inside your left cheek. To be honest, I thought she was going to stick it into my gum, so I had two seconds of relief before the searing pain of having it in my cheek anyway.
I was praying my head off, which always works (useful for smear tests as well, or anytime you're worried you're going to swear, cry or slap someone) and she eventually pulled the needle out. I took a deep breath, but within seconds she was back with another loaded weapon. This hurt so much I was practically waving my arms about as I desperately wanted to stop her from doing it. She said, "Be careful, I could inject my own finger." I thought, 'Suits me, love,' but obviously couldn't say so, as my mouth was full of finger and needle. I was tempted to bite down hard on the finger.
In the end I had four injections. Was that absolutely necessary? By then I couldn't talk coherently, so when Torquemada asked, "Are you okay?" I could only humbly nod. I was sent back to the waiting room. It was then I was most glad Mr O had come with me, as I could snuggle into him and pull myself together. The only thing was, he said, "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" in his best Monty Python voice, and it sent me off into a fit of hysterics. I don't know if it was the anaesthetic, or the shock, but I couldn't stop laughing. This joyous attitude was not the impression I wanted to give to the dentist, but there was nothing I could do about it.
The nice dark haired lady came out and called me back into the torture chamber. Once more I lay on the reclining chair.
Torquemada prodded and poked my wisdom tooth and asked me if half my tongue was numb. I nodded dumbly. She prodded and pressed down on the tooth, and I am thrilled to say, I couldn't feel a thing. I could vaguely feel her twist the tooth, and then it was out. I didn't feel a thing. She put the wadding in and I pressed down on it. I sat up and was fine, and she said I could go and pay. I was so relieved. Did I recant? By God I did not.
I went out and found Mr O, and mimed that I needed him to pay. Then I realised I was going to be suddenly and violently sick. I leapt up and pulled the front door open, and ran out onto the forecourt. I had a brief moment of 'Gosh, that's posh gravel!' before being sick all over it. All in all I think I may have made quite an impression. I don't have to go back again for six months. Hopefully my hair will have grown by then and they won't recognise me.
I had planned to go to the library, the bank and the craft shop afterwards, but all I did was stay in the car while Mr O went to the bank. I felt very queasy, which I hadn't expected at all. Last time I had my wisdom teeth out I had a general anaesthetic. Now I know why. We came home, I got on the sofa and slept and slept and ....zzz.
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