If you EVER see me with another pack of Skittles, please punch me in the face. Today marks the first time in my extremely long and sad history of going to the dentist where I've discovered that the Novocain didn't take mid-drill. Because people never get sensible until it's too late, it has been my mission since childhood to constantly have a mouth full of dice. So there I was today laying back in the chair chewing my cheek when she began drilling.
It felt different. The operative word here is 'felt.' As a matter of fact, that's our word of the day.
FELT!
Pressure or discomfort is normal. 'Feeling' isn't. She told me to raise my hand if I experienced any discomfort. Apparently both of us have great reflexes. Mine told me swing at her while her's said to bob and weave. She stopped immediately and apologized. She gave me another dose and we waited five minutes for it to kick in. I could barely speak when she started up again. My whole face was puffy. She stuck something in my jaw and I felt nothing. There's that word again.
FELT!
She started back up with the drill and all was well...for about twenty seconds. Then there was this immense pain that was worse than the last. She was afraid to give me more anesthetic, so she decided to stop with the drilling. Out of nowhere she picked up some medieval torturing device and started scraping the last of the decay away.
She's a very nice lady and very pretty. I think it's that latter part that caused me to sit there and try to be tough. She thought that doing it by hand would be less painful because she could control how deeply the pick went. She was mistaken. It felt like I was getting an unmedicated cesarean section in my jaw. There was a baby in distress beneath the gum line and she had to get it out.
I left there a changed man, which brings me back to my initial statement. If you see me with another pack of Skittles, do your civic duty and punch me in the face!
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