Dental Visit

Time for another visit to the dentist. Seems like two years goes by awfully fast! I know! I know! A checkup every six months is recommended. But I tend to stretch that out a bit. Or, a lot. Typically, I wait until there is a problem, which was the case this time.

The reason for my visit was a small chip on my upper front tooth, specifically, the mesial lingual surface of #8; the right maxillary central anterior (for those who want a technical description). The tooth has previously had a root canal, thanks to my dog knocking me of my skateboard when I was a kid, so there was no pain, only the aggravation to my tongue. But I would like to keep the tooth, and prefer to not pay for an implant, so I made the appointment.

And that’s when the trouble started.

Since my last visit, my dentist has retired. I may have mentioned a few times that I do not like change. I know that change sometimes is inevitable, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. So, it was with a fair amount of trepidation that I “looked forward” to this dental visit.

And I was not disappointed.

New faces, new procedures, new equipment; all made for a distressing hour. I guess you could say, it was rather a numbing effect! And on top of that, I had to endure a lecture from the dental assistant about the “proper” care of my teeth. As if, at 48 years of age, I’ve never heard anything about brushing and flossing. I considered asking her who had made her dentures, just to make a point, but thought that might not bode well for my own comfort while in the chair!

Actually, I must admit, the new dentist is okay. More than okay really, she’s great. She’s knowledgeable, competent, skillful, thorough, good-natured, and witty. In short, she’s very likable, as a dentist and as a person. But it’s just not the same. My old dentist knew me, knew my family. There was a certain familiarity and a friendly atmosphere. Now, a dental visit is purely business, impersonal. I know, in time that will change. I’ll become more comfortable and used to the new people. Used to the new way of doing things. Used to the idea that my old dentist is gone.

And, in time, I’m sure I will learn to accept this change. Maybe. Probably about the time my new dentist retires!

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice-President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Kathryn R. Biel

Torture Chamber

Don't worry, this is not political. Just a story based on firsthand experience.

In recent years, there's been a lot of talk concerning whether or not America engages in the torture of prisoners of war – or of anyone for that matter. The short answer is no. As a country, America does not officially practice the sadistic rituals of torture, per se. Usually.

The question then becomes, what qualifies as torture?

Torture chambers do exist in America, many of them. They can be found in virtually every city across the country. Prisoners of war are not the victims, but ordinary American citizens. I have seen several of these houses of pain, and though the look varies slightly from one to the next, each shares a number of features in common. These torture chambers do not engage in ripping out fingernails, they do not practice cutting off fingers, and they do not waterboard their subjects. But what they do is perhaps more sinister, evil and vile, more painful.

Generally, these places are small rooms, painted white. In the middle is a foreboding chair, the kind you'd see in an Alfred Hitchcock movie. The rooms are equipped with running water and electricity – old stand-bys and vital in any torturing endeavor – as well as several modern gadgets designed for the sole purpose of imposing pain. A vast array of knives and other primitive tools capable of inflicting sheer torment are arranged within easy reach of the administrator of the establishment.

The administrator, a smock-clad fiend, wielding various instruments of pain, is the dispenser of the torture. Usually a male, he is the sole arbiter of his victim's fate. Yet, he is not alone. One, and sometimes two or more of his cohorts, under the watchful eye of the master, work in concert to deliver as much physical trauma as possible.

In nearly all cases, these torture chambers make it a point to refrain from killing their subjects, choosing instead to cruelly prolong the agony, leaving their victims to suffer the effects for days, weeks, and occasionally, even extending to months.

As I said before, I've experienced these torture chambers firsthand. I know the horrors that take place in them. In fact, I was recently a reluctant victim. Thankfully, I survived - my trip to the dentist.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders