Fear and loathing

Just before Christmas, I bit into a piece of Rocky Road and it bent my brace.

Before you cry out, "Why Gemma, there is no such brace on your beautiful teeth!" It's my secret brace, along the inside of my bottom teeth.

I tried to ignore it.

Why?

A) I'm lazy
B) Don't trust strangers with power tools
C) Assumed it would fix itself.

No such luck.

So I made the sodding booking, and sat in the stupid chair with the special plastic glasses on and held the fairy tale mirror.

Things I like about my dentist.

A) I always have to wear the glasses - even when I'm having nothing done. She is worried that whatever is in my mouth is so horrendous, that when I open it lying down, what comes out will blind me.

B) I always have to hold the fairy tale mirror. This is so that when she asks me for £488754 I can't insist that she didn't do everything, because I watched ever torturous move.

It looks like this:

Because the brace had become unglued from three teeth, she insisted that it was a simple job of drilling the old glue away, and boshing on some new glue. The drill looked like this:

It was very painful. I did not like it. I kept trying really hard to relax my clasped hands, because I was losing sensation in my thumbs.

At my old dentists, we had a signal for when I was overwhelmed with agony - raising my left arm. This one isn't fussed.

The taste and smell of the construction project in my mouth, reminded me of when we made little motor boats in Design Technology at school.

I guess I should be grateful that she didn't look like this man:

As he is very inappropriate.

 I'm using this blog to work on showing and not telling. I hope you like it. Mostly, I just don't trust you to be able to picture the severity of my dentist appointment on your own.

Luckily, James took me out to dinner that night to celebrate my survival, and that it was all over.

Unluckily, I got food poisoning.

HOPE YOU'RE HAVING A GREAT DAY.