So now I was into a dental bill for the current year of a coupla hundred dollars prompted by my dentist having to cement an old crown back in which had been wrenched out by, for heaven's sake, eating a salmon fillet. As I lay in the chair, my dentist's professional eye saw a cavity.
Gotta take care of that, right? So I came back the next month to get it filled.
For the first time, my best-ever dentist hurt me. After administering novocain, she waited, drilled and I jerked.
"Did you feel that?" she asked rhetorically. "Uh huh," I indicated miserably out of a wide-open mouth.
She administered another ampule of novocain and left to attend to another patient while it took effect. While I waited for her to come back, I checked the dentist's chair for for its back exit but couldn't locate one.
The dentist came back and finished the drilling and filling with no further pain to me beyond my great anxiety waiting for a jolt of electricity to sear in when the tooth nerve came alive, which sensation didn't repeat itself. "We'll have to watch that tooth for a possible root canal down the road," she said as she finished up.