Have you heard the one that starts, “A funny thing happened to me today, on the way to the…”
Well today I visited a dental practitioner and a funny thing…
Fortunately I had my journal with me to record the comings and goings of that visit.
It was a short but long trip to the chair. An unwelcome path stretched out before me, all eight difficult feet of it. An assistant wearing the tight tunic of a clinician, bode me sit on the single chair, beneath the intense single white light. Does she think I am clinically insane?
I must be, for I sit as directed, the door facing me, so far away, just over there.
Behind me another manifests herself, close now and only just within my view, sweetly smiling and shapely, yet tinged with pain’s promise.
She talks, ominous words wrapped in a kindly dressing, smiling eyes twinkling over an austere gauze mask. The chair falls back and me with it, leaving me helpless and all but prone under this, – this woman’s gaze. It is yet one more barrier between me and the door.
The unyielding plastic is solid beneath me, twin barriers masquerade as armrests, each forged of steel and plastic, they cage the sides. The door is distant now.
The assistant moved, occupying the opening on my left, placing herself and her tray of ominous evil in the only gap. On the tray the bright light glints off keen edges and eager spikes. Together they formed a barricade of woman and steel.
She deposited a splash guard on my chest, the oppressive weight of the thin plastic pinning me further onto the chair. The door is so very distant now.
Pinned, caged, surrounded, I lay vulnerable before these women. My only avenue, were I able, is straight up but she of the kindly wrapped words, reaches up, grasps the light; it pivots on its gimballed gallows and drops down, sealing me beneath its harsh glare.
I can no longer see the door!
“Open wide”, more kindly wrapped words, “A little wider,” scratch, tap, scratch, fingers be still.
Unable now to even turn my head, I clasp one trembling hand to another, it’s not so obvious now, but unable to stop the trembling down my spine. I cross my ankles, it helps, a little.
A question, do I want an injection. Do I? Do I?
“No, no. – No, I don’t.” Heartbeat. “Yes, yes. – Yes, I do!”
Sweat trickles down my side.
So, what happened to you today that you can write about?
Shack’s tip of the week, keep a journal to hand.
Oh, and before any eagle-eyed readers mention it. The misuse of ‘bode’ was deliberate.
Photo: Reeve041476, cc Otisarchives4