Forceps... clamp...

I thought I was going in for a filling. But no. The dentist said that today was the day for my tooth extraction. I had been nervous enough at the prospect of being drilled and filled, so was shaking by the time he had administered the two injections. I sat in the blond-wood waiting room, trying to interest myself in the magazine covers on the rack, and waited until it kicked in.

The nurse called me back after 10 minutes – I was convinced that surely this could not be enough time. After all, I was still walking, shaking, able to speak...

So, I sit in the large chair, am covered with the blue apron, don a pair of orange plastic safety goggles and am told to open wide. I did so, trying to concentrate on my breathing, my toes, the radio, and not on the dentist's requests for 'clamp', 'forceps', 'suction' and so on.

My tooth didn't want to be parted from me. It dug its roots in, the poor tooth, and gave the dentist a hard time. Now, following my experience of hearing my skin snipped away when I had the lump removed from my armpit earlier this year, I can add the sensation of having a long piece of my skull yanked out to my catalogue of 'things I'd rather not feel/hear, thanks very much'.

He said: 'Oh, stubborn tooth', and carried on putting what felt like his body weight on my jaw to steady it. 'Keep your head still,' he said. Hmmm. I'm afraid I couldn't do that, not while having it gripped from within and without. Just wasn't happening.

Anyway, out it came eventually, my mouth's equivalent of childbirth, with a bone-crunching whoosh and lots of blood (which I couldn't feel on my face but the nurse mopped up for me). I then bit down on wadding, which I was scared to take out for two hours, and tried not to throw up as I walked to my car and then drove to Sainsbury's to buy soft food. The cashier understood my tooth-out mime and sympathised as I paid. I mumbled back.

It is throbbing. THROBBING. And I won't even get any cash from the tooth fairy. Pah.