I lay defenceless. All I could do in that supine position was to wait. The cracks on the ceiling couldn’t be more clear. Normally, these would not be a spectacle one would stare at meticulously. But given the context, they had more meaning than they would otherwise carry. With my heartbeat that could be felt in my head, I sincerely hoped that the ordeal would end the soonest. Sadly, it wouldn’t.

The Dentist came back to the chair and claimed his tiny tools – a steel instrument which curved at the end and a tiny spear that could puncture the deepest point of your heart in an elegant swish that would make a ballerina jealous. I hadn’t considered that to get my teeth cleaned, I’d have to surrender myself to a stranger with such dangerous weapons in such a vulnerable position that I wouldn’t exist to question him if he chooses to slit my throat for fun. Sure, he has a degree in Dental Surgery. But, does he have a soul which prevents him from misusing it? I’m about to find out.

After plenty of gargling and spraying the water in the tiny basin next to me, I was all ready to have the flak removed and get some shining white teeth. I asked him if it was going to hurt, to which he said “only if you think!” And now, how can I not think about it? To numb the pain, he produced a tube of transparent ointment from thin air, squeezed it a little, and applied it to my gums. This, as I learnt, is called ‘Benzocaine’. What I did not learn by then was that I was not supposed to swallow it. As it slipped down the throat, it was too late to realise that instead of taking sensation away from the gums, it had made the throat and the inner part of the tongue so numb that I couldn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost as if the Dentist did use his tiny tool to slit my throat.

But I didn’t say a word. Not only because I didn’t want to take the risk of a conversation when sharp objects were touring my mouth, but also because I simply couldn’t speak anymore. The anaesthetic gel had petrified the throat and the tongue that arises from the throat. So I stared at the cracks on the ceiling.

The drill started poking holes at the bottom of my teeth. Since I had come this far, I couldn’t change my mind about being chiselled like some delicate porcelain. How bad can it really be? And if thousands are getting their teeth cleaned every single day, this ought to be a simple process despite the ongoing gloom. Yeah… right! But boy, the gums started bleeding. The pain was real. Evidently, the ointment that was supposed to numb the gums did not do it since it slipped away to a more sloppy place. Well, now what!?

I closed my eyes as a reflex, hoping when I open them up, I would realise that it was just a dream and no one was torturing me by my molars. As the pain sent jitters through my body, I had to hold on to something to contain the shivers. After swinging my arms for a while, my right hand found something soft and spongy to grab. I clutched it stiffly and didn’t dare open my eyes lest I see more blood sprinkling off my mouth. This went on for a few minutes, or what seemed like an eternity. When the drilling machine shut, I opened my eyes, only to notice that what I had held onto was the Dentist by his hair. We looked into each other’s eyes as I slowly let go of his hair. It would’ve been romantic, had it not been incredibly painful.

As I got out of that pretend-guillotine chair, I could feel my throat and could use my sense of speech. But the gums hurt. I made quick work of paying up and driving down to my house. Was it all worth it just to get some clean teeth? I can never be sure of that. However, what I regret is not pulling the hair off of the Dentist’s scalp and giving him an iota of pain that he made me go through. Well, there’s always a next time!