Not AGAIN

...I can't stand it! I don't know where to look, what to say, and I'm in a very awkward position. Two people are staring at me, not six inches away, and I see a bright light. I'm tempted to stare into the eyes of one of the people, and see if it does anything. Will they pull away their face that is looming sometimes 3 inches away to 3 feet away? I need my private space! Ack! Sometimes my tongue will involuntarily attack their prying fingers. Though that's kind of weird. I don't like the taste or smell of latex.
Yes, once again, I'm in the dentist's office. Once again facing the challenge. Where do I look? Do I stare at their nose? How about their freckle? I try in vain to stare at the ceiling, as it eludes me behind the blinding white light. My tongue is in a panic with so many foreign snakes fiddling around in my mouth. The drool builds up in puddles, threatening to drown me. That's when they stick the miniature vacuum in my mouth to prevent my premature death.
Then there's the worst sound and feeling in the world. Scraping plaque and teeth. Chssh, schhhsh, chhhshchch. Ugh. It sends shivers up my spine. As they scrape that stupid high-tech "sonic" cleaner close (or on) my gums, my back slowly arches, and my hands clamp tighter. I realize this, and relax, only to realize seconds later, I am once again clenched everywhere, even my pinky toe is experiencing my anxiety. My face grows hot then cold then hot again in mere seconds.
My tongue is once again confused. Where is it supposed to go? The dentist has his hands plus a tool in my mouth, as well as a vacuum, and a tennis ball they were curious to see if it fit in my mouth, which it did.
Alas! I'm all tight again, and I breathe to let myself relax, inhaling the drool and grit and who-knows-what in my lungs. I try very hard to prevent myself from coughing, causing tears to erupt in the process.
The girl sees my teary eyes, and asks if I'm okay. I say "Ykmmmf". She looks confused. I wonder why. I nod my head yes, causing the vacuum to fall out and land on the floor. She swiftly picks it up and sanitizes it with three different sprays and cloths. Then she continues.
Even when they're causing me slight pain or discomfort, I just tell them to carry on. Because if I say "no" when they ask if I'm okay, they stop and rest for a minute, and continue exactly what they were doing, only more slowly, causing even longer amounts of torture!
Other than that, my visit was swell. I only regret not turning on the TV on the ceiling, as that would've given me something to watch. But noooo, I had to bring my stupid book with the witty Voltaire, and his work: "Optimism" which is also known as "Candide" (which I'm enjoying immensely, by the way...).