Comfortably Numb

I had to go to the dentist this morning — he was going to apply some kind of coating to one of the molars where the enamel was thin, or something like that — and he's telling me that he's going to use a topical anesthetic before he gives me the shot. 

I said fine, but when he started applying the goop to my upper right gum line, I quizzed him about it:  I thought the tooth in question was on my left side.

He said that the chart said it was on the right, and I said it was . . .
last time

He started teasing me about being like the people at the hospital who mark the leg before they go into surgery, but once he double-checked the notes on my chart, he began apologizing repeatedly because I was right.

If I were smart, I would have asked for a reduced bill, but I was so antsy to get the whole procedure over with that I just shrugged it off.

At any rate, right now I'm kind of doing a Drew Barrymore–stroke face impression, because the whole bottom left quadrant of my face has gotten up, excused itself, and left the room. (Just a little Dennis Miller shout-out, for those in the know.)


  1. [SHUDDER] [knocking on any available wood] So far, this year, I have been in good shape as to the dental arena. But boy howdy, I would have screamed bloody murder if my dentist had made a screw up like that one.

  2. Well, he only numbed up the right side with the topical — he checked the chart, numbed up the left, and then gave me the actual shot and did the work.