I now know exactly what it feels like both to need, and to get, a root-canal. Let me tell you, it’s awesome. A week of fuzzy headed lightness followed by three days of utter, jaw-shattering, agony followed by a man you’ve never met before diving into your face with a full assortment of dental tools along with what appear to be a fistfull of misshapen thumb-tacks. Actually, I thank my endontist for being a perfectionist, and for eight shots of novocaine (the last four delivered directly to the nerves in question via the convenient new hole drilled in my tooth) and for making the process as quick and painless as possible. He also did his best to hide the terrifying details from me, which is not hard to do when he has me laid on my back, feet above head, staring into the ceiling and the small, nova-burst like, light aimed into my face. Nevertheless, I did manage to catch the occasional reflection in his glasses of the yawning void that had been created in my tooth. A hole that seemed unlikely to fit within the physical constraints of my mouth, much less a single tooth.
This is why such details are hidden from the patient. The natural tendency to amplify any such information to unbelievable heights of gibbering fear is bad enough without forcing the patient to experience the complete, horrifying, details. I didn’t really need to know what length the fillings were being cut to, I just knew that if that drill didn’t stop going in soon, it was going to come out the other side… and then where would we be.
