I sat at my desk late on Friday afternoon, exhausted and in some pain. The dull throbbing in my jawbone had been going on for almost three days, and I knew I had to do something about it.
As colleagues around me started packing up to go home for the weekend, I quickly Googled the practice of the dentist I've been to a few times in the last couple of years, Dr Holland. He's nice, quite gentle and understanding, seems like a middle-aged family man.
I called the number.
"Doctor Holland's rooms, good afternoon, Felicity speaking."
"Hi Felicity. It's Shara here. I know it's late, but I was wondering if there's any chance at all that Doctor Holland can see me this afternoon?"
"Hi Shara. I'm afraid it's unlikely, he's busy with his last patient for the week. How about Monday?"
There was silence on the line as I contemplated the weekend ahead, and this ache that I'd been irresponsible about seeing to so far. It was my own fault. I should take better care of myself, I know.
"Shara? Are you there?"
"Yes, sorry Felicity, I was thinking. Okay... could I ask you to ask Doctor Holland if, as a huge favour, he could see me after his last patient? I'm not sure if I'll survive the pain this weekend."
"It's unlikely, Shara, but please hold while I check with him."
Felicity put me on hold and some violin music took over for a few minutes. I multi-tasked, closing down some spreadsheets and Word documents, and packing my cellphone and empty lunchbox into my handbag.
"Shara?" Felicity was back on the line.
"You're in luck! Doctor Holland says he'll see you if you can get here by 5 o'clock."
"Yay! Thank you so much. Please thank Doctor Holland. I'll drive across straight away!"
As I drove across town anxiety started to grip me. I've been the dentist perhaps once every two or three years my whole life, and it's always been stressful for me.
I pulled up outside Doctor Holland's offices at about 5 minutes past 5 o'clock, locked my car and raced up the stairs. The receptionist was closing the blinds and turning the lights off, and she smiled at me as I ran into the waiting room.
"Shara! You're just in time. You can go through."
"Thanks, Felicity. I'm so grateful to you for fitting me in."
Just then Doctor Holland walked out of his consulting room, wearing white pants, an unbuttoned white coat, with a navy blue shirt. "Good night Felicity," he said. "Have a great weekend, and see you on Monday."
He turned to me. "Shara? Nice to see you. Come through please."
He stepped aside as I walked into the room, the big scary chair beckoning me.
"Please sit back and relax," he said. I sat back and he pressed a button and tipped me backwards in the chair, as my feet lifted up. I was almost horizontal, and I leaned forwards and straightened my long skirt over my ankles. I should have started to feel relaxed, but I felt even more anxious than before.
He pulled up a chair and sat down next to me. He was so close I could smell the faint scent of his cologne. "Tell me what feels wrong?"
"Doctor Holland, I have an ache in my lower right jawbone, and I can't identify the source. But it's getting worse every day."
He reached across my head and turned my face towards him. "Do you mean here?" He rubbed my right jaw, his brown eyes staring straight into mine.
"Yes, but the thought of having you examine me is making me feel very anxious."
He let his hand drop, and grazed my right nipple through my t-shirt. I felt it go briefly erect, and felt embarrassed and excited at the same time.
"No problem, I have a fabulous anti-pain and anti-anxiety medication. It's a cocktail of Novacaine and three other medications -- there's nothing like it, it will relax you completely."