Off The Cuff

What’s with laughing gas? I had heard about it for years and been offered it in dental offices. It sounded a bit drug-ish, and drugs don’t like me. I don’t have one prescription. Mainly because a little of anything goes a long way with me, and I need to maintain my wits (and balance) living from a wheelchair. My memory has a short wick, and my bladder has a slow leak; I need to remember my schedule!

Anyway, I was anxious about having something major done by an endodontist or oral surgeon—can’t recall, so I accepted the offer with the contingency that I receive the lowest dose.

The assistant strapped this Hannibal Lecter-like mask over my face—assuring me that its cool hissing mist was on #2. Dimming the lights, she patted my arm with the instruction, “Call if you need anything.” She exited the operatory as James Blount piped in on the Musak, or Pandora, or who cares? I cried, and cried, and cried….

Laughing gas?

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