Wednesday, October 23, 2013


We took the bus into town. You told me we were getting ice-cream. Then I saw a giant tooth on the building and it dawned on me. We weren't going for ice-cream. You tricked me. You lied. Again. So I started to run. Next thing I know I am being tackled to the ground. Lying on the pavement. You were holding me down. And then that old man cam out. He came out to the parking lot. He looked in my mouth, as you held it open. He tapped each tooth with a metal tool. And I tried so hard to scream. I tried so hard to get away. But I was pinned. He stood up and told you that I had no cavities. He laughed. So I ran. Furious. How dare you lie.

Every year you came up with more creative and devious ways to get me in that dentist's chair. But I always won. I always ran.

Today, I went willingly. It's been years since you have had say in my medical decisions. Today, I walked in the office door by myself. I sat in that chair. I opened my mouth. I let the man drill into my tooth. My anxiety level was through the roof. In my head, I was gagging and throwing up all over him. I winced from the pain and the stress. But on the outside, I appeared calm.

I have overcome one more thing. No thanks to you.

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