It's been one of those weeks. Found myself back at the Dental surgery yesterday morning. Ok, I knew I was in for the first installment of a root-canal treatment, and that this probably wouldn't involve many laffs. But I also figured that I'd be dosed to the gills with enough anaesthetic to render this a merely uncomfortable encounter, as opposed to a painful one. Funny how wrong you can be. He (my dental practitioner of choice, name withheld) had decided whilst looking at an X-ray that the nerve of the tooth was dead, and as a result no anaesthesia would be called for. I replied that I really wouldn't mind having some, even if it were for no reason. He ploughed on regardless, partly I think because he was behind schedule with his appointments.
Yes, you know what's coming. No dead nerve to be found, just a live and very angry one. First time I've ever been remotely vocal in a dental situation I have to say. Screaming was simply the natural, primal response to that particular kind of deeply invasive pain.
My dental visits are rarely a leisurely experience these days. Costly too. Private dental treatment costs £180 per half-hour...and that's just the time. Treatment-costs are added to that. You can see why a lot of people who don't have access to NHS treatment are staying away in droves. Back there in three weeks for the second installment. I'm losing sleep already.