I went to see the dentist today; for a filling. When I was seated in the chair, she asked whether I would like anaesthetic. Or not.
On observing my expression of sheer terror, she said that I could try a filling without an injection, but that I could signal for anaesthetic should I experience any discomfort. Since my new dentist is a five foot tall twelve year old, I felt it necessary to feign courage and decline the injection.
She then pointed out that I only had to raise an arm if I needed her to stop. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stop myself from assuring her that, if I felt pain, I’d wave both arms in the air.
And it didn’t hurt at all. Which meant that the experience was over very quickly. Much to my second in command’s surprise (she’d been in the dentist’s chair for forty minutes or so).
Since I’d decided not to return to work, I went home to for lunch. Acknowledging that a trip to the dentist must be followed by a pint of beer, I had a walk to town, via the chemist. My visit to the chemist was non-tooth related; I needed to pick up stronger blood pressure medication. Yes, sadly my new drugs aren’t quite working as well as expected, so the strength needed to be increased. Once more my argument that I have a superhuman, highly evolved and efficient, vegan heart failed to persuade my doctor that I don’t need medication.
While in Boots, waiting for the pharmacist to finish a consultation with a terminally ill man (he seemed to have a cold), I noticed the steady trickle of young men who appeared to be queue-jumping by securing service via a secret door. And then I observed one young man tear open his prescription bag, remove a small bottle and drink the contents in a couple of gulps. Ah, methodone.
After my prolonged stay in Boots, I had a walk down to Station East, where I had a very nice pint of Budvar.
Followed by the Central and an excellent Out There beer. I realise that’s two pints, rather than a usual single post-dentist pint, but there are reasons to make an exception.
1. The post-dental pint traditionally occurs in the Isis (or Ship Isis, depending on which variant of the name you prefer), in Sunderland. The need for my second in command to return to work necessitated my post-dental pint taking place in Gateshead.
2. The additional stress endured when the no anaesthetic option was presented to me could not be allieviated by a single pint of beer.
3. There’s a direct correlation between the amount of beer I drink and reduced blood pressure.
Oh, I did say I was walking to town didn’t I? The Box Social it is then.
And why is it so commonly referred to a dentist’s chair, when the dentist isn’t the one in the chair?