When I arrived at the dentist’s office, I was ushered into the examination room and strapped into the chair, force-fed large quantities of a powerful emetic, and then had an anesthesia pumped in my butt. In came the dentist, with his mad eyes flashing, a slight fleck of froth at the corner of his mouth, hair wild and an uncontrolled laugh emerging from his throat. With devices cruel and insane, he prodded around my gaping mouth, scraping the gums away from my poor victimized tooth, and then the leverage, prying that innocent tooth from my upper jaw. When that didn’t work, he broke out a wicked looking forceps and started rocking it back and forth, back and forth, in an effort to separate me from my body. Oh, how I screamed and howled, but it was to no avail. A sudden pop, and the Number One tooth came free from its bony socket.
Would he use it in some mad ritual about which I had no idea? Only the maniacal laughter from him and his assistant was my reply.
In reality, the “novocaine” was gently injected into my gums, and the tooth was extracted with grace and ease. The pharmacy nearest his office didn’t carry percodan, so I gritted my teeth and rode back to San Francisco, getting my prescription filled at the Rite-Aid in my office building. While I was waiting for it to be filled, I went upstairs to my studio and the neighbor let me know that my hot stone massage set had been delivered to her office this morning, and would I come and retreive it. Happily, I picked it up from her office, and started uncrating it. I am excited to be offering this as a service – it’s a fun modality and wonderfully therapeutic.
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