The D-word

I saw a lovely review for Presumed Dead which has cheered me up no end. The reviewer called it "A brilliantly written crime book that hooks you from the first page." Yay! It always seems especially exciting to get a good review for a book that's been 'out there' for a couple of years. (You can read the full review here.)

I also had an email from Amazon this morning telling me about great recommendations they had for me. I checked out their recommendations and saw that they were all my books. That cheered me up too because I'm hoping that email has gone to lots of other people. Who knows, someone might buy one of my books!

So that's the good news. The bad news is that I shall get nothing constructive done today. Nothing at all. I've taken the dogs for a good long walk and now I'm too busy fretting about my trip to the D-man to have a tooth extracted to do anything. Words can't describe how much I hate the D-word. 

Assuming I survive (look on the bright side, that's me), I'll try to get home without reversing the car into any concrete pillars (sigh) and concentrate on recovering from the ordeal. 

Some time ago, I read results of a survey into why people were afraid of the D-man. Most said it was the injections. A few said it was having those horrid latex gloves in their mouth. And some - get this - said it was the cost. The cost is always the very last thing on my mind. I'd happily hand over all my worldly possessions to be told I'd never have to have treatment again. 

What about you? Are you okay with dentists? Or are you, like me, terrified of them? I don't know what it is with me. I do remember getting into serious trouble when I was around five years old for refusing to open my mouth for the dentist and then, when I was finally coaxed into doing so, biting him. You didn't get nice friendly dentists and cute little badges in those days. You did what you were told or faced the consequences. I also remember, when I wasn't much older, seeing my big sister going for treatment. She went to the hospital and I remember sitting in a horrid waiting room until her name was called and then watching her vanish through a pair of plastic 'doors'. That still makes me shudder. I have to say that my own dentist is lovely, the practice is very smart and comfortable and the radio plays in the background. I still dread going though.

Ah, well. See you on the other side…

© Shirley Wells 2016