Dentists !!!!

Three weeks ago, my third wisdom tooth decided to stage a coup. The pain was so bad I was popping painkillers like they were breath mints just to stay functional. Off to the dental clinic I went to, where the GP informed me my wisdom tooth was half out and ready to rebel completely. Infection loomed, she said, so she sent me off to their dental surgeon. Naively, I thought, "How bad could it be?" Spoiler alert: bad.

Now, let me tell you two things about me: my pain tolerance is as low as my interest in dental drama, and anaesthesia works on me like a bad Wi-Fi signal—unreliable and requiring constant retries. It took five injections before I finally stopped feeling the pain, and the dentist went in like a wannabe miner searching for gold. First, he yanked with all his might, then switched to drilling like my tooth was a construction site. Back to yanking, more drilling… rinse, repeat. By the halfway point, I needed yet another shot of anaesthesia because, of course, my body was like, "Not today, buddy."

The whole ordeal took an hour. By the end, I hated my life, my tooth, and the concept of dentistry as a whole. I briefly considered asking him just to remove all my teeth to save future suffering. When it was finally over, the bleeding lasted 24 hours—a great combo with my anaemia, which means "bleeding too much", is on my list of things not to do. When that stopped, the real fun began: excruciating pain that laughed in the face of my prescribed Brufen.

Two weeks in, my face still felt like it was auditioning for a zombie movie. So, back, I went to the clinic, hoping for some answers. Instead, the surgeon pawned me off to the GP, probably because he’d hit his monthly quota of 3D X-rays and anaesthesia injections. I guess customer care isn’t a priority when you’re running a butcher shop for teeth.

Determined not to throw more money at this circus, I went to a highly recommended clinic. Their surgeon took one look and confirmed my suspicions: the first guy should never have been allowed near a dental chair. It turns out his hack-job removal left me with a dry socket—a delightful condition that now needed treatment. Honestly, some doctors should have their licenses revoked and be banned from practising on humans, animals, or even mannequins.

The moral of the story is: do your research, and if a dentist reaches for the drill like it’s a power tool ad, run.