Where There's Smoke, There's Fire

I went to the dentist today . . . I know, it made me cringe, too.
A couple months ago, I had my first root canal. My very first root canal and my very first anxiety attack. Other than a few cavities, my teeth are healthy. I didn't bother to get yearly checkups, reasoning that I'd go when I felt pain. Well, when I felt the first twinge of pain, I called Dr. C's office.
"Hmmm," he said, staring at the x-ray of my mouth. "It could be a large cavity or a root canal."
"What?" I said, and tried to twist my head off my shoulders so I could see the glowing illuminated x-ray conveniently placed behind me.
He jabbed at the x-ray. "This one, right here. Number 19. I won't know until I get in there and find out."
Yup, that was it. The tooth that had bothered me while snarfing down ice cream. Second molar from the back on my bottom left side. Please, oh, please let it be just a large cavity! I thought as my stomach tried to curl in on itself.
One week later, I lay in the dentist chair staring at the glowing eyeball of a lamp above me and trying not to panic. They started out pretending it was a cavity - two shots of anesthetic and a small drill. I winced and Dr. C stopped.
"You can feel that?"
I nodded. "Uh huh."
More anesthetic. Two minutes later, I winced again.
"You felt that?"
I nodded.
He gave his assistant a look and sighed. "Looks like a root canal."
He ended up giving me two more shots of anesthetic - five total. By the time I remembered to tell him that I was strangely resistant to anesthetic (I remember waking up during my tonsil removal and punching and kicking the doctor and nurses, screaming for my mother; they had to give me three times as much anesthetic as a regular five-year-old. When I had my wisdom teeth removed, the doctor said that they had to keep turning up the gas for an hour until I finally went out.), my face was too numb for me to do anything but drool and mumble incoherently.
I remained relatively calm as they wedged my mouth open and jammed a blue rubber sheet around my tooth. The grind of the drill did nothing but make me want to grind my teeth. True panic set in as I saw smoke - actual smoke, ladies and gentlemen - rising from my mouth in a twisting, laughing dance. The scent of my own tooth burning filled my nose. I clenched the arm rests and grunted, trying to convey with my eyes that my mouth was on fire and they needed to put it out now!
At my pathetic attempts of communication, Dr. C paused for a moment and glanced down at me.
"Smells bad, doesn't it?" he said and then ignored my squawks.
After a moment, I calmed down, concluding that if the smoke was a problem, the doctor would fix it. However, I was a bit perturbed that there wasn't a liability waiver to sign, alerting potential patients that their teeth may catch fire during the procedure and that the Dentist Office would not be liable for any a) melted teeth, b) charred hair, or c) anything that the patient chooses to wear or bring that may be flammable.
So when I went in today to get my temporary crown put on, I was prepared for anything. Nothing could be worse than a melted tooth.
Except, perhaps, no tooth!
They pinned me down with that big, square bib, forced my mouth open, and proceeded to chip away at my tooth. No explanation, no conciliatory apologies, just total destruction of my tooth. Okay, it was pretty much dead, anyways, but I would have liked the chance to say goodbye, perhaps relive fond memories, and share one last piece of English Almond Toffee before they ground it down to a sad, sorry little stump.
When I was released, I jumped to my feet and faced Dr. C's assistant. "Okay, what's next?" I asked, wiping crumbs of who-knows-what off my cheek.
She gave me a look. "The permanent crown." The "Duh" was unspoken.
I sucked some spit before it passed my lips into drooling territory. "And what happens with the permanent? Needles? Fire? What?"
"We didn't give you the gas, right?" she asked, looking worried.
I shook my head. "The permanent crown?" I prompted, refusing to be distracted.
"We just pop off the old one and glue on the new one," she said. "It takes about 15 minutes."
"Good," I replied. "'Cause I'm never doing this again."
She laughed because she thought I was joking.
I'm not.