There are few things in my life that I dread more than dental work, and by dental work, I mean anything whatsoever that causes me to open the door to a dentist’s office, and go inside, unless I’m just selling magazine subscriptions or Avon products. (None of which I sell, btw.)

But alas, once in a great while, Fate decides to provide the entertainment for the rest of the Gods of Morpork and Ankh (I’m reading Terry Pratchett) and gives me a toothache. And not just any toothache, but one so bad that I had to see my regular dentist to be told after an hour’s work that the tooth beneath my crown is basically mush, but that he’s SURE he can save it. Why he wants to save mush is never fully explained, but an appointment with an endodontist is made immediately so I can have root canal “therapy.” You’d think anything with the word “therapy” in it would be soothing and pleasant, with soft music, and kind people handing you tissues as you spend long, cathartic minutes rehashing your misunderstood childhood, and leave feeling cleansed and capable.

Sadly, in root canal “therapy,” the closest you come to being soothed would be the Halcion tablets you’re given an hour before the procedure (which rather than soothe, render your fingers so fat you can’t type, much less walk a straight line across the room, while carrying a cup of Earl Grey), and forget pleasant altogether.  Pleasant is RIGHT OUT. Tissues are for spitting into, and the only thing cathartic about the process is when it ends and you get to tell the endodontist what you think of him, his forefathers, and the horse they rode in on, too, as you stumble out the door, still under the influence of the Halcion. It’s possible I was so deeply under that same influence, the doctor thinks I propositioned both him and that horse I mentioned. Speaking clearly at that point was no easier than navigating a straight line, so I can only wonder who or what might show up at my front door one Saturday night.

And the best news of all? I get to do this again two more times in rapid succession at my regular dentist’s office, while he puts in a post, core, and a new crown. Say? Isn’t he the one who started all this? I’ll have a few Halcion words for him, too. I’m working on them, already! 🙂