"Hold on. Let me get a screwdriver."

“Emily,” the nurse called as she poked her head into the waiting room.
“That’s me,” I replied as I stood up from my chair and walked gingerly across the room to meet her.

She led me down the hall.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“Fine,” I said timidly.
“Have a seat, and the doctor will be here soon to see you.”
The nurse left the room as swiftly as she had come.

I tried desperately to be comfortable in the chair, but it wasn’t happening. Oral surgery wasn’t a desirable concept for me, even though it would make my teeth look better in the end.

Dr. Sokolosky came in to prep me for my surgery, trying to be as calm as possible in order to make me feel more at ease. His scheme nearly worked until he pushed the needle into my gums to numb me. My eyes began to water and spill over. He took a look inside my mouth. Suddenly, he left the room saying, “Hold on. Let me get a screwdriver.”

A wave of panic spread from my head to my toes. My eyes darted to the window, my mind trying to plan a quick escape.

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