Toothache. That one word triggers horrors for me. The discomfort I can put up with. But going to the dentist requires strength and courage that is hard to find. I am sure this stems from a visit to the dentist when I was seven or eight years old. Up till then dentists had seemed as normal to me as visiting the doctor or going to the clinic for your childhood vaccinations. But on this particular occasion, the dentist in question decided to give me several fillings at one sitting. I cried throughout the entire procedure and ever since have avoided going unless it is an absolute emergency. Well, as much as I hate to admit it, for the past week I have had that emergency. Today I will bite the bullet ... a particularly appropriate phrase considering my situation ... and book myself in.
I went to the doctor last night to get some antibiotics because I thought there must be an infection which ought to be cleared up before I take the next step. Ever since last Friday when I realised I had a problem (I am not in agony, by the way, just achy), I have been trying to find a local dentist who I liked the sound of. Someone who will understand my phobia and help me through it. I found one and he has been an angel already - and that is just by email! The doctor last night (it was not my usual one and I was not comfortable with her anyway) said to me - quite without compassion - "There is no infection there - just a rotten tooth that needs pulling." Charming lady. "Go to the emergency walk in centre and get it sorted," she said. When I got home - totally disillusioned with this particular doctor - I looked up the local emergency walk in centre. The first review that sprang out at me read the emergency dentist was patronising and unhelpful. So I am going back to my angel.
When my experience is over, I will come back to you and write about writing again. Till then, wish me luck - I am going to need it.