Nakajima Dental Clinic Boldly, I approach the building, open the door, and then pause at the “genkan” to take off my shoes. The “genkan” is a traditional Japanese entryway that serves as a porch and doormat, situated at the same level as the outside.
Stepping onto the raised floor, I bend down to face my shoes at the door, as is customary for a quick exit later. On my right, there is a shelf called a “getabako,” which holds slippers for patients to wear inside the clinic instead of their own shoes. I take a pair and proceed inside. Even before entering Dr Nakajima’s office, the hallway already carries the scent of disinfectant liquid and bleach.
Despite the hot weather, upon opening the middle door, a refreshing breeze from the air conditioner gives me goosebumps. Making my way to the front desk, I catch a glimpse of the receptionist’s black hair peering out from behind, resembling a vigilant soldier in a trench. After hesitating briefly, I insert my patient registration card into the transparent plastic box to sign in. A sigh escapes me as I contemplate that this is the moment of no turning back.
“Suddenly, the black-haired lady notices me and says, ‘Good morning. The doctor will be ready soon.’ I sit in the waiting room, anxiously waiting for the nurse to attend to me. I observe the cheerful toddlers with their bright faces and start to feel ashamed of my own cowardice. My face turns red, resembling a balloon about to pop.”
The nurse, wearing a white uniform, arrives and beckons me over. She guides me to a vacant black leather chair in the corner, far away from any exit. As I settle into the chair, I notice four other motionless bodies occupying nearby seats. I swiftly avert my gaze and instead focus on a plate filled with clean, shiny stainless steel instruments. Among them, I spot a long syringe directed towards me.
When the nurse flicks the overhead light on, my eyes are momentarily blinded. I hear a deep-voiced man to my left, and then Dr Nakajima appears in the office wearing the same white uniform. However, his uniform has a split along the front that stretches open because of his large waist. He is balding near the front of his head and wears a white dental mask covering his lower face.
In the most polite and “aristocratic” manner, he speaks. Then, the big man reaches for the arm of his robotic machine and presses the green button located in the middle of the box attached to its lever. Suddenly, I hear a metallic sound, a “click.” I find myself securely restrained with polyvinyl leather straps into the seat, reminiscent of a sheep being tied for slaughter. The large round fluorescent light above me is lowered to just inches away from my head. Between the light and my face, I am met with a “globe” featuring two wide-open brown eyes leaning towards me. “Hello Tako, How are you doing?” The greeting is misheard by me as “Nigerarenaizo!” (This phrase roughly translates to “No more escape, I got you!”) Confined by good demeanor, I must endure this ordeal.
