In which I am cruelly forced by fate to do that which I would rather not…

Firstly, denists. While I’m sure it is possible be a perfectly nice person and pursue a career in dentistry, I have, I’m afraid, allowed my own substantial but not unreasonable fear of pain to cloud my judgement. For years I have considered that most denists must be crazed, sadistic psychopaths forced into the profession since the alledged* disbandment of the Spanish Inquisition. Whilst years of letter writing at High School for Amnesty International and such showed that there are still many torturers in the world today working industriously, I have assumed, however, that the salary and other benefits of becoming a denist are generally considered more appealing to the young up and coming sadists looking for a career in the pain industry. So my opinion of denists was possibly not the most enlightened of thinking. As a result no doubt of two factors of my youth. Firstly, repeatedly watching ‘Little Shop of Horrors’. Secondly, a particularly large and fearsome dental nurse at my primary school. This dental nurse believed in 3 things. One, the spike. A long, wiry hook used jab gums, fillings, cavities, or any thing else that could bleed or cause pain in your mouth. Two, the drill. She loved her drill. Maybe it was the sound it made, maybe the look of terror in the eyes of children but whatever it was that drill made her grin. I wondered then as I wonder now if I actually needed half the fillings I actually had as a child. I suspect it was her insatiable lust for the drilling, not any candy-caused cavities that led to some of those fillings! Three, her third belief? That any amount of pain and suffering inflicted on a small child would be instantly removed if she gave you a tampon** with a bit of string and gauze tied around it to look like a butterfly. Anyway, last week one of my teeth broke. I was contentedly chewing a piece of toast, not even a particularly thick or chewy piece of toast, when part of my back molar broke off. Having half a tooth missing is not comfortable or convenient, so I had to concede that a trip to the dentist was necessary. I hadn’t been in many years. Possibly not even in this millennium, but it had to be done. I was pretty nervous by the time I got to the dentist. I had had visions of root canals even though I wasn’t even that sure what a root canal was. However, I have to report that the experience was actually not that bad. I was given a large injection of anaesthetic in the gum and wow, it actually works! Even the drilling (well, ‘shaping’ as it was euphemistically called by the dentist) didn’t hurt. If this wasn’t bamboozling enough for my brain to comprehend, there were also a dazzling array of fancy gadgets. Tools and gadgets rather than implements. No wiry spikes or anything. The dentist too was a nice, amiable chap. He was friendly and made jokes. I left after 35 minutes substantially poorer but my tooth was filled up and I couldn’t feel anything in my left cheek for several hours. Hurrah! So as well as having my tooth fixed I learnt some valuable life lessons too. Denists are people too. Some of them are even nice. Drilling doesn’t hurt if you can’t feel half your mouth. Funky, plastic looking gadgets are less scary to have stuck in your mouth than metal spikes. Denists cost a lot more than dental nurses but they don’t give you tampon crafts. * I have my suspicions but alas to validate them with any evidence may lead to my capture and death. ** OK, they are not tampons but what is the term for those cotton tampon-like things denists shove in your cheeks?