So I go to the oral surgeon yesterday and when he walks in I promptly report from my 1 mg of Ativan: “I don’t like dentists. Nothing personal.”
“No problem,” he says. He looks at the X-Ray. “Number 19?” he asks. I confirm. He slips gas over my nose, “This will help you relax,” he says. He slips a needle in my arm, “Little poke,” he says.
And that’s the last thing I remember until his nurse is helping me out of the chair. The man did not even make me open my own mouth.
NOW THAT’S THE KIND OF SEDATION DENTISTRY I CAN GET DOWN WITH.
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