EXTRACTION

Yesterday, Dr. Norman said “It has to come out.”

Today, my sweaty palms squeeze the arms of the shiny blue plastic covered “Chair.”

He holds it low but I see the glint of cold steel moving toward my face.

“This might be uncomfortable.”

My neck grows hot and prickly as the instrument probes my gums like a paring knife probes a raw chicken breast.

“Ouch! You’re pinching my lip!” Thoughts, not words.

The instrument runs deeper around the tooth.

A brief wave of hot nausea envelops me.

Blood. I can taste it.

Distract yourself. I can’t.

Eyes opened or closed?

I open them to a fun-house blur of Dr. Norman’s eyebrow, blue face mask, bright menacing light. Nothing good.

Definitely closed. Hold on to the chair.

Words: “alveolar bone.” Why did he say that, and to whom? The brunette assistant, I surmise.

Bone.

Is she new here? Inexperienced? Is she handing him the correct instruments? Is she grossed out yet?

Bone. Skeletons still have their teeth. Bone. Bone. Bone. My tooth is attached to that.

A new wave of nausea.

Is pulling a tooth like breaking bone from bone?

Cold sweats as my spine arches in the chair; instinctively attempting to flee this assault.

Calm down. I can’t.

“Elevator.” I wish I was on one right now.

He is elevating. Lifting. PULLING my tooth.

Pressure. Let’s be honest, not pain. Just pressure. Like he is pushing on the tooth, rather than pulling it.

Until...

Crunching sounds and electric shock-waves that spread out from my tooth like some bratty kids plasma ball. My hair hurts. My nose, my brain. I’m going to die here. Now.

Pain gone. Thank God for that. How long was it? Seconds? Felt like an hour.

“Sorry about that. It’s giving me a bit of trouble...”

No. Please.

Cold water blasting into my mouth. I can’t feel it but I’ve forgotten how to swallow and I’m going to aspirate bloody water into my lungs and succumb to pneumonia afterward.

None of that happened.

He’s going back in.

Did he just say “Incisal” or was it “Incision”? Is he even talking about me?

Lord...have mercy....is he going to have to cut me open in there? Stitches.

He did say “Trouble.”

“Okay, you’ll feel some wiggling.”

Yeah, I will. I am.

And you might too, Dr. Norman. Because I’m seriously about to wiggle out of here.

Wiggle.

What a stupid word right now. A CUTE word. Nothing is cute right now.

My brain is hyper focused on that one tiny area of myself. The area being wiggled.

Which is also wiggling my head because it’s attached to my BONE. My skull. The orb that holds my teeth, and doesn’t want to let them go, even after I’m a skeleton.

Play the alphabet game for distraction.

A is for...Agony? Anxiety? Apple?

Will I eat apples after this?

Will this ever end?

Is there a radio playing somewhere? Am I in shock?

I have surrendered.

Some smell assails my nostrils. Chemical? Bleach? No, dirty socks? No, spicy peppers?

Am I hallucinating? Having a stroke? What’s that smell?

UGH.

Bloody grinding of some sort but no pain.

My chin feels wet, slippery.

I float.

“That’s it” he says and shoves a toddler pillow sized wad of gauze into my mouth.

“Bite down.”

She, the brunette is wiping my face. Blood I’m sure.

My body dissolves into tingly relief.

I have survived potentially mortal combat, bare handed with swords and spears, on a plain.

I exhale heavily. “How long did that take?” I ask around my wad of gauze.

Dr. Norman looks at the clock. “A minute.”

“No. I mean really.”

“Literally a minute.” He pats me on the shoulder. “That was a very easy extraction. It just jumped right out.”

“Yeah. Yup. It felt...longer.”

His kind eyes come into focus. Smiling, he says: “Remember, the worst minute has only 60 seconds.”

And then, just like the tooth... he is gone.