And there I was, with Al Roker making chicken noises on the TV, and my dentist drilling away at the back molar nestled in the rear, roof of my mouth, using a drill sounding very much like one of those drills they use to dig subway tunnels, when something unmentionable slid down the back of my throat and caught on my Adams Apple. I said "I need to cough," but it sounded something like "rwoar cahh," and my dentist said "Yeah, that Al Roker really is a card." At which point the air pressure from my lungs burst up, past my Adams Apple, and out my mouth. It was not pretty. I do suspect that Dr. Glossner will long remember the day he said to me "tilt your head a little farther back. Good. Open a little wider... towards me." Believe me, you don't want to start off your morning with hell in a dentist's chair.
I've also been told I have little tact, so if this offends you simply ride on.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Hell in a dentist's chair
One of the things that is now on my list of things to never, ever do again in my entire life, in fact it is quite near the top, is to go to the dentist while still recovering from a cold. That's what I did this morning. I thought everything would be fine. Sniffles were gone, running nose had dried up, and I hadn't sneezed in days. I felt fine. As he numbed me up, I reclined back in the chair, listening to the inanities of the Today Show (that's right, there are TVs in every room). Very rarely do I watch morning television so I was truly surprised by how much was geared for a 12 year-old mindset. And he began to drill. Things were going so fine... until I felt the need to cough.