Sunday, 1 July 2018

GOING TO THE DENTIST'S AS A KID: A NEW POEM...

Going To the Dentist’s As A Kid

It was clinical,
Exacerbated by the creams
And high-pitched screams
By the imposing and invasive machinery.
It was odorous,
Aggravated by the drilling
And inserting of a filling,
In the distressing and abrasive surgery…

It was horrific,
Infiltrated by the gas
And stinking rubber mask
From the anaesthetic’s oppressive sedation.
It was fearsome,
Accelerated by the waiting
And nervous anticipating
Of ‘The Butcher’s’ defective abomination… 

Pete Ray
June 2018
MY DENTIST'S SURGERY AS A KID...

Dr Liggins, ‘The Butcher’ as he was known, would be my first dentist in Ward End, Birmingham, near the Pelham Arms inn.

The gas mask to put one to sleep during an extraction procedure, was a horror and I always felt like I was returning to consciousness down through the surgery’s ceiling afterwards. 

I once asked Dr Liggins what the tooth-cleaning brush felt like to the touch but his response was to place it on the back of my right hand, which drew blood.

Ah, ‘The Butcher’…


Strangely, his brother operated on my bunions some years back and he too drew blood, lots of it, during two operations whereby I was fully awake and could feel an electric saw shaking the anaesthetised foot being operated upon, as it sliced away unwanted bone… 

No comments:

Post a Comment