Two words you never want to hear your dentist say… root canal!
Yes this is looming in my future and I can’t say I’m greatly enthused. It has gotten me thinking, though, about something interesting that often happens when I’m at the dentist having something icky done.
I guess psychology might call it a dissociative state, but I can manage to focus my thoughts on something other than me in the chair and the two people looming over me with tools – even that bright lamp shining in my face – and go somewhere else entirely.
It actually freaks me out a bit because I suddenly jerk back to reality hoping that I didn’t miss anything important.
The first time it happened I was a little bit worried that I could do it while the dentist ground half a tooth away, but I guess I do it probably ten times a day; slip through the rift between this reality and whatever world is in my head at the time. On the train, in the shower, standing in a queue or even sometimes at my desk at work I do exactly that.
So I get a lot of practice.
Whether I’ll manage it when my poor cracked tooth gets its heart ripped out and concreted over I’m not sure. I’m kind of hoping I do.