I hate dentists. Well, not them personally, but their occupation. I finally got the courage to make an appointment for an oral surgeon. I should’ve made it back in December to take care of a tooth my original dentist harangued me about.
There’s a scene in Dustin Hoffman’s “Marathon Man” where Lawrence Olivier, a Nazi dentist who worked the death camps, tortures Hoffman into giving up some info.
“Is it safe?” asks Olivier
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Answers Hoffman. That’s followed by a blood curdling scream as Olivier jams a dental probe deep into a cavity.
Now, I never went through that. But the level of dentistry in 1969 when I was five years old was a close comparison. Ah, phobias. You have to love them, so many different ones you can try on.
What’s odd about it? I can sit there and rationally discuss with a competent dentist about why some things should be done. I can follow the argument. I can understand the flow and reasoning…but get me to sit in that chair to do it!
So, I caved into the “right and positive choice” this morning and made the appointment.
*****
In other news, the weather sucks. I swear global warming is happening so fast we’ll have the flora and fauna you see in South Carolina one day.
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