I Don't Want to Live on the Moon

I was up before dawn to accompany a friend to the dentist with his small daughter, who needed extensive treatment.  The procedure required semi-sedation and a vast array of sharp instruments - pretty heavy stuff.  The dad was tense, but stayed outwardly calm.  As for me, I was chewing on my knuckles.

I can't say enough in praise of the dentist and his staff at Pediatric Dentistry of Clifton Park - professional to a fault, and also extremely kind. It was all over remarkably quickly.  Even the dentist expressed his awe and appreciation of the techniques and equipment available to him that allowed him to work so efficiently.  I think it's only fair to credit his skill and experience, too.

How much the little patient will remember of what when on this morning I can't say.  Not too much, I hope. But throughout the procedure the dentist sang a song from Sesame Street, and now I for one will never be able to listen to I Don't Want to Live on the Moon without remembering plaintive cries and the whizzing of drills.