Monday, August 17, 2009
Have never been too sure about this time-travel business; didn't think it was possible. But after last Friday, I am convinced it happens.
Don't go running to your physics texts or L'Engle's Wrinkle in Time. I'm not talking about that kind of time travel. This is much more, uh, earthbound, and something I'll bet most of you have experienced.
Last Friday, I had to have a molar extracted. Apparently there was a vertical root fracture and infection had set in. It had been years since I'd had a tooth extracted, so I was understandably nervous. Didn't help that the assistant was of the old school type: all business, no smiles.
The moment the lavender bib was clipped on to me, all the good things from the past thirty over years--the uneventful moments at the dentist, the years of experiences, the maturity and sophistication I thought I'd acquired--whoosh! Gone. Just like that.
At the mercy of two people with instruments of torture and loud noises, who pricked my gum and the roof of my mouth repeatedly with needles, who applied intense pressure to yank out my stubborn tooth, who sawed my tooth with a tool that produced a horrid buzzing sound and the even more horrid smell of tooth splintering: I was a helpless and scared six year old.
I am now a true believer in time travel. Didn't quite expect the dentist chair to be a time machine, but after experiencing it first hand, I can no longer doubt this phenomenon.
By the way, anyone read Rebecca Stead's When I Reach You yet? If you have, would you mind letting me know what you think?