You'd have to be mental to go to Ottawa West ...

I go to the dentist with the same enthusiasm a cow has climbing into the back of a lorry. You just know this isn't going to end well. 

Fortunately, I have good teeth. Despite being English by birth. And so my visits to the Butcher of Carling have not been as unpleasant as they might be. In fact, were I actually to admit it, it is a really good dental practice and has caused me less pain (financial and physical) than many others. But I am not going to let the truth get in the way of a good narrative. 

I arrived into the newly plasticized interior of the clinic, take off my mask, was given a full body x-ray (you never know what might be lurking near your toes - and with the impossibility of seeing a doctor in Ontario, I take any chance I can get), take a fluoride rinse, have my teeth picked at by instruments at which the Spanish Inquisition might have blanched, gag a little, spit out blood and little bits of things my teeth have been holding on to despite my best efforts at flossing, smile nicely, put my mask back on and leave. No need for extractions, crowns, root canals or fillings. See you in six months.