My father dreads going to the dentist. It’s a fact well established and accepted. As I see him enter the sterile room I can feel his jaws tighten. The pronouncement wasn’t happy. He needs a RCT (root canal treatment, for the uninitiated). My father of course was already in denial.
“Will it hurt?” he asks the young doctor.
“Not a whole lot and we will be giving LA”
“Don’t worry, once the crown is fitted it would be like a regular tooth”
“Shall we start?”
“Wait! How will the crown stay? It’s an upper tooth.”
“It’s an upper tooth. The crown will fall off because of gravity, no?”, his attempt at humour.
I am looking at him bewildered. This is not my father. I am not here in this clinic.
“Look at the ceiling fan. Is it falling off?” the doc retorts. He is amazingly self-possessed.
“If we anchor the crown well it would never fall off”
With that she gags his mouth with a rubber extender.