Poked, Prodded and Drilled

Six months ago, a dental appointment on January 3 sounded like a good idea. Now that the date arrived, that idea sucked. I have a deep seated fear of dentists. It all stems from my childhood. The first dentist I ever went to was named Dr. Payne (no joke). Furthermore, he did not believe in novocaine. This led to some interesting experiences as he drilled on my teeth without painkiller. I remember begging my mother not to make me go to the dentist. I remember her bribing me to not cry when I had my cavity filled. The one silver lining to this episode in my life was that I got some of the best Hot Wheels cars of my youth as a result of going to the dentist and testing my pain threshold. Even so, I still cringe and shudder whenever I hear the sound of dental instruments. So to say I was hesitant about this appointment this morning would have been an understatement. I knew this was merely a checkup and cleaning but the thought of going to the dentist was nearly more than I could stand. I sat in the waiting room and I could hear the drill going behind the wall. Although I have never been a prisoner of war, I can fully imagine what it was like to a lesser extent. But after an hour appointment, I was finished and headed for the door. When I got outside, there was Trina waiting for me. "I just got off the phone with the doctor. They want you to come over for some shots." Could this day get any worse? First the dentist, then the doctor. What next, do I need to go to the vet to have my dog put to sleep? This millennium sucks!