Commentaries by Cynthia

I recently walked into the dental office, worried about having my first root canal and concerned that my skirt might be considered too short.

Soon I wasn’t worried about anything, including dying. In fact, I thought I saw a bright light. And I liked its warmth and comfort so much that I didn’t think I could resist its allure. “Wake up,” I told myself sternly. “You’re heading for the bright light of death and you don’t even care.”

My eyes opened with a start. “Did you have a mini-dream?” the dental assistant asked, a sympathetic and knowing smile on her face.

I nodded, unsure if the light had only been a dream, for it had seemed so real.

The radio was on in the background. I could hear the dentist and his assistant talking. Then the room grew quiet for a moment. The DJ on the radio suddenly cracked a silly joke. I burst out laughing. Pointing to the cap feeding the delightful gas into my nose, I heard myself say, “I needed this stuff on my last job."

Everyone in the room laughed.

My arms and legs began to go slightly numb. I realized I was physically losing control. “Don’t let me say or do anything too embarrassing,” I pleaded, looking at the assistant.

She promised me that she wouldn’t.

People came into the room. People went out of the room. I didn’t notice any pain, although I knew some serious work was being done on my poor little tooth. I just kept reminding myself that I needed to get a column out the experience.

Then I forgot about the column, as my mergence into the psychedelic realm continued. Suddenly the world made perfect sense. I could see it all; the past, the present, and the future. I could see how we’re all interconnected in a way I’d never noticed before. It’s as if I was in touch with the God living inside me, the Devine, the omnipotent, the all-knowing God of the Universe. And He was on my side. And on your side and on everyone's side. God was indeed Love. Even the term “groovy” made sense for the first time in my life.

“Ok, we’re going to take you down now,” someone said. “We’re done.”

I opened heavy-lidded eyes and looked at the clock on the wall. “I’ve been here two hours?” The words of disbelief never made it outside my mouth.

The hose feeding me the delightful gas was removed, and I gradually became more aware of my surroundings. I was, as my dentist said, “Back on planet earth.”
“So what did you think about that?” he asked.

Sounding very guilty, I gave him an honest answer. “I liked it.”

“Un huh” he said, as though he was used to getting a positive reply. “Ok. You’re free to go now.”

“I can drive?” I didn’t think I could (or should for that matter.)

“In a few minutes,” I was told.

Surprisingly, I didn’t have any difficultly driving. After a two-hour nap at my home, I even went into work, where my coworkers described me as being only a little more spacey than usual.

As I reflect upon my introduction to laughing gas, I have to admit that I am glad the substance is kept under heavy lock and key. Anything that can turn a root canal into a pleasurable experience is serious medicine and is probably not recommended for those with addiction tendencies.

If, however, another tooth requires the same procedure in the future, I won’t hesitate to say, “Hook me up to that laughing gas.” Then I will relax, let the staff do their work, and visit the Groovy-loving Universe once again.