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The dentist’s office, all bright lights and high-tech instruments and everyone dressed like off-duty astronauts, make me feel like I have entered a space capsule, preparing for lift-off. The assistant led me to the blastoff chair and showed me how I could go whale-watching in Antarctica by watching the big screen on the ceiling.
The assistant had a big role to play in this charade. Until recently, several friendly assistants worked with Edward. However, for some time now he has had a very unfriendly woman, who given the chance, lectures me like I am a child; one of her specialities is speaking to me when I have my mouth open, the drill is on, and I can’t hear her, never mind respond. “Open your mouth more,” she says, “keep your tongue down,” is a command rather than a request.
When the drilling begins, Apart from the last of my teeth, scattered about at random and rapidly decaying away, I have some other ailments that have crept up on me. My knees are stiff when I stand up, my back acts up when I stand for any length of time, and my balance has deteriorated, too. The list goes on. My short-term memory is deteriorating.
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