Generally, I pretty much fucking hate the medical establishment and medical procedures. I understand them, I endure them, but I hate the discomfort and the alien feel of probes, pokes and whatnot.

I’m actually a big, fat wuss at heart. (Although, pain doesn’t actually bother me that much. My pain is not the physical it’s the guinea pig, science experiment, end product, piece of meat feeling.)

The absolute worst feeling of dread and loathing is reserved for the dentist.

Due to shooting pains in my face from a long dying tooth, I have of late succumbed to dental probing. So far, there have been all sorts of Inquisition-like methods of exquisite torture, including a root canal and enough drilling to be worthy of Bush’s ultimate Alaskan wilderness wet dream. I have endured and see a future of chewing into my dotage.

The dentist is a nice, young guy. He’s polite, gentle and takes the time to explain what he’s doing and waits for me to finish clenching in anticipation of his dental reaming.

Today he tried to kill me.

Until the day comes when the burning in my throat ceases, I am not sure I can adequately explain what happened.

For now by way of metaphor or example or something all I will say is if for what ever reason you have ever gagged, say on a small morsel that went down the wrong pipe or a large cock that pushed a little too insistently, you have felt discomfort. Anything causing that involuntary throat closing and convulsing retch leaving the hot taste of bile beyond the end of your tongue is a feeling of helpless, hopeless, godawful kill-me-now misery.

Today, I wished for the relative comfort of that horribleness. I convulsed, I retched, I swallowed, I spit, phlegm came from my mouth, my nose and probably my blood-shot eyes. None of those reflexes could relieve the burning, burning, burning.

So, today’s tip for anyone thinking of taking a little coursework in the lucrative world of dental assistance, is fucking listen to the dentist. If he says turn the fucking suction wand on full tilt than I want to hear that puppy hum like an unmufflered chopper doing 90 on a clear day. And, if he says to fucking suck up that river of bleach BEFORE it pours down the prone patient’s open throat, you fucking wield that wand of suction full bore, like a righteous sword of god and make that river disa-fucking-ppear.

Now I know what it would be to die by bleach poisoning and a more wretched exit I cannot imagine.

Hours later, and my throat still is raw and feels like I’ve been gargling Chlorox.