Please Don't Do Your Worst

In my idle moments I like to think how well I would withstand torture (you're probably the same).  Would I be able to hold back vital information while various ill intentioned individuals did creative things to me with hot wires and various sharp things?  Sometimes I think I would hold up rather well, I have visions of myself spitting, rather bloodily, in my interrogator's face while inviting them to do their worst.  Last Thursday I went to the dentist.  Half way through I would have cheerfully sold out my grandparents for the opportunity to leave.

In fact I did try to leave, three times and each time a stern glance from my inquisitor, sorry, dentist made me sink quivering back into the chair and reluctantly reopen my mouth so she could insert sharp things into it.  The humiliating part about it was she wasn't doing anything much.  No fillings (that happened Monday) and the tooth I had presented for her inspection turned out to be fine.  No, what reduced me to a weeping puddle on the floor was her attempts to clean the accumulated gunk off my otherwise reasonably functional teeth.

I wept, I howled, I gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that it actually started weeping as well.  Fortunately the facemasks prevented me from seeing the looks of absolute contempt that must have been plastered over the faces of the dentist and her assistant.  Eventually the dentist heaved a huge sigh of relief and put the sharp, scrapy things back on the tray.  I did, indeed, spit bloodily but it was into a convenient basin and far from inviting the dentist to do her worst I was wondering how I might be able to fake my own death so they would leave me alone.

I cringed back into the chair as the assistant approached.  Rolling her eyes she plastered my newly clean teeth with flouride while I somewhat incoherently offered her money I don't have if she would help me escape while the dentist's back was turned.  The dentist's back was turned, I suspect, so I didn't have to watch her laughing.  She needn't have worried I had my eyes firmly closed during the entire procedure.

Finally the ordeal ended, cautiously I opened a tear filled eye.  The dentist jerked her head towards the open door.
"Get out," she suggested.  I didn't need to be told twice.  I extracted my remaining fingernails from their position deep in the arms of the chair and fled towards the exit.  Then I had to slink back a few seconds later to collect my sunglasses, book and other extraneous possessions.  The dentist and her assistant very kindly kept straight faces until I had left again.

On Monday I went back to have a couple of fillings.  During the entire procedure I stoically endured without a whimper.  Well ok, I whimpered slightly when she injected me with anaesthetic but after that absolutely nothing.  Possibly I could stand up to torture after all.  You know, if they drug me first.  Or instead.

Just for the record my dentist is absolutely awesome.  I can and do recommend her to anyone.