The fear hit him the second he walked into the dental office. Not mild discomfort. Not quiet unease. Pure, primal panic. The kind that makes a grown man reconsider every life choice that led him to this exact chair with its suspiciously shiny metal tray and its unnecessarily bright overhead lamp.
“No way! No needles! I can’t stand them!” he blurted the moment the dentist walked in. He wasn’t just stating a preference—he was announcing a moral, spiritual, and philosophical boundary.
Dr. Patel had seen it all before. People who fainted at the sight of the chair. People who recoiled from fluoride as if it were molten lava. People who googled root canals and came in already near death from self-diagnosed complications. But this one? This one had an energy about him. He wasn’t dramatic. He was dead serious.
“Alright,” the dentist said calmly, adjusting his gloves. “No needles.”
The patient exhaled a shaky breath, as though he’d just negotiated world peace.
“Great. So what about gas? We can use nitrous oxide. Safe. Simple. Helps you relax.”
Continue reading next page…