Instruments of Torture

An impromptu visit to the dentist, not for me, but as the result of a cracked tooth for L.  I won't be thanked for the image, but as it is one of only three I took all day, it will have to suffice.

I have known Robert, our dentist for nearly 40 years, first meeting him when I went out with his sister.  At the time he was at university training to be a dentist and shortly after he qualified he came to my rescue by sorting out my teeth after I had steadfastly refused to go for more than 10 years.  I still remember the first night in 1984, when my mother came with me to his flat in Atherstone, Warwickshire and we walked down to his small surgery in the dark for him to take a look.  I won't lie in saying that it was only the pain I was in that overcame my fear.  Over 18 months he sorted out my mouth, on one occasion I'm sure he had his knee in my chest as he fought with a recalcitrant root to remove it!  Suffice to say we built up a bond and I am really pleased to think I am probably his longest serving patient.

Anyway L was in the chair for only a few minutes and the magic was done.

I also got back to playing badminton tonight for the first time post op.  A great couple of hours, playing most of the time with no (as yet) reaction.