'tools of torture'...

...wielded with (thankfully) skill, care and compassion by M.

After childhood experiences of sausage fingered dentists who could have taught the Inquisition a thing or two about pain and fear, a visit to the  reclining chair of clenched fists and teeth is not high on the list of ways to spend a Friday morning.
However, thanks to the calm and careful ministrations of M and dentist E, wild horses are no longer required to drag me there kicking and hollering!

One Namibian molar miner was named Amadeus for goodness sake. Not a maestro of the mouth by any stretch of the imagination.