The Discomfort Room

Anyone that tells you that they are not afraid of visiting the dentist, in my opinion, is an enormous liar! Just recently I paid a visit to my dentist so he could perform some minor repairs on my gnashers! Apparently I grind out all of my worldly resentment during the night when I am frolicking in Neverland! As a result, it seems all this late night grinding had had a detrimental impact on my molars, and the dentist deemed it necessary to restore them to their former brilliance.

Now I wouldn't say I find myself overly consumed by fear as I meander up the driveway to the dentist’s office. After all, it's not really an office; it's simply a regular house that has had the front two rooms cunningly refurbished to appear dentist-like. When you get in there, the rest of the place is still a house! There's probably someone upstairs reading the newspaper on the toilet and scratching their nuts as you sit back in 'The Chair' for your 9:00am appointment in what is probably one of the most unbearably sterile rooms any normal house has ever seen! But there is an element of apprehension and a nervous unease in your gut as you sit on the comfy sofa, surrounded by the inaccurate crayon-work of local kiddies that certainly would not have impressed any art critic during the renaissance! This room is all a ruse, an elaborate veil to put you at ease and subdue that voice in your head that keeps saying "in a minute it is highly likely that you will feel discomfort, possibly even pain. I'm not gonna sugar coat it for you, there is a genuine chance you might feel pain in and around your mouth at some point in the next 10 minutes or so".

Then comes the call, and you pick yourself up with a nice fake grin smeared all over your stupid face and walk into the surgery. Except it's not a real surgery, it's someone’s lounge that's been covered in mirrors and filled with modern adaptations of the remorseless instruments once used in torture chambers in the 1600's! However, apparently, if the chap wielding these tools of terror is wearing white latex gloves and a baby blue facemask, this allows him to place a sign on the door saying 'Dentist' instead of 'Dungeon' and gives him the legal right to charge extortionate amounts for his painful proceedings!

Once in the chair we now enter into the period of idle chitchat, probably designed to put you at ease, but which usually just elevates the tension (perhaps they like to play with us in this way, like a fish on a line, a bear in a trap, Geppetto in the jaws of the whale!). In recent visits, inexplicably, my dentist has chosen to continue these conversations as he begins to probe my gob with his rotund digits...

"I've just come back from a skiing trip with the family to Lake Tahoe!"

... And you feel compelled to attempt some kind of audible answer!

"Oooo weeeallly ahhh, I wen ere in daaa sumda, it booootfuuuul."

The only time this ridiculous conversation ends is when the dentist and his assistant decide you are prepped and primed to become the centrepiece in a little game called 'How Many Dental Utensils Can We Fit In Your Mouth?' At this point they come at your face with all sorts of weird looking stuff; strange tubes for sucking your saliva, mirrors on cocktail sticks, tiny little pickaxes stolen from Papa Smurfs shed, and all manner of scratchers and scrapers! It turns out my mouth was full at three! I'm not sure that is enough to see me turn pro and land lucrative sponsorship deals, but perhaps my mouth was not designed to be a receptacle for dental implements!

So finally, as the whole ordeal comes to an end and with all manner of dental debris cast out of your mouth, you sit up, rinse... relax! At this point a strange thing happens. Jubilantly shaking him by his latex clad hand you skip back into reception and pay your exorbitant fee without so much as a shred of discontentment. For if you are back in the warm embrace of the waiting room. You cannot be… in the ‘Discomfort Room’.