Copy of Blindfolded

I was told that there was a big hole inside my molars, and the nerves in them were all dead, so I had to get root canal treatment and then a crown. 

The dentist made me blindfolded with a green cloth; my mouth wedged open with a medieval torturing instrument. Freezing water spray and intense air formed a tornado that struck my mouth. Once in a while, a strong hand would stretch my cheek forcefully and almost beyond the limits. Then came the most dreadful part- drilling. 

Despite being blindfolded, I could feel the anesthetic needle slowly approaching my tooth. Though my mouth was held open by a mouth prop, and I couldn't speak, the thoughts in my head were deafening: Was it too late to change my mind? Did I really have to endure this torture? Was there a better way? 

Before I could think further, my molar was already fitted with instruments of torture - a rubber dam and clamp isolated my tooth from the rest of my mouth, making breathing even more difficult. The drill-like vibrations brought me back to reality in the treatment room. I could even feel tooth debris flying out, like bits of flesh mixed with bone, both hard and soft, bouncing off my face before being sucked away by powerful suction, taking part of my soul with it. Although I had the protection of anesthesia, it felt more like a placebo. Every time the drill went in, the sore and the lightning bolts of pain, accompanied by the smell of rotting flesh and the burning enamel, felt like the tooth's revenge on me: its cavity-prone host who doesn’t like to brush his teeth. 

The root canal procedure felt like forcibly extracting my body and soul from their vessel. As the dentist moved the file up and down my tooth, my entire body swayed (twitched) with each stroke. I could no longer tell if the dentist was crushing my nerves or pulling them out. Sometimes, I would smell pungent medicinal liquids - I suppose that's what dissolved my nerves away! Finally, I felt the dentist ramming what seemed like construction cement into my tooth with enough force to make it feel like it would split. In the end, the dentist fitted a new ceramic crown, which promised both aesthetics and strength. But one thing that I knew clearly was that this remaining shell of the tooth, like long-abandoned ruins, though renovated, was fundamentally broken - just a precarious building with a deceptively beautiful exterior. 

Brush your teeth, kids!