I can recount this now the OP has been done:
One of the top two front teeth was cracked at some point, dentist reckons up to a year or so before it caused me any trouble. I’d been living abroad and skipped dentist’s check-ups, not that it would have ultimately made any difference.
The tooth was cracked exactly on the gum line, so he was dubious about an easy job. I was needled to bits in my gums and, sure enough, the crown broke off at the gumline and he explained that a tool might be needed to extract the remains. He then pops onto the table a packet containing a lovely, clinical-looking metal mallet with a plastic head and what I can only describe as a jeweller’s screwdriver with a slightly larger handle. After some sterling efforts to get the root out with his extractor, he relented and, very apologetically, said he’d have to unwrap the other tools. I forget the name, something like peristick.
The procedure, he said, would be to hammer the spiky part down between the root and my skull, to help free the tooth. Worst case would be that he had to work around the complete root, but typically they only need a little encouragement. Now, I don’t about anyone else, but the experience of having somebody hammer a spike into your face is not a pleasant one. For all her commendable professional stoicism, the occasional look of fear on the assistant’s face did nothing to improve my lot. There was no pain, but it felt so, so very wrong; medieval, surreal. After a dozen or so whacks he tried again with the extractor; but, no. He worked his way around the whole root for five or ten minutes, occasionally rummaging around with the pliers, before, like an amateur mechanic, dropping his shoulders in resignation and saying “I’ll have to fetch Omar.” . For some reason, maybe it was the hammering to my face, I thought this was just an affectionate term for a bigger hammer. Turns out Omar was the senior dentist, who set about my head in the way only a dispassionate Pro can. At one point he had his knee on my chest as he demanded “keep your head back! Keep your head back!!” as he pulled with all his might at the stubborn incisor. His hammering was much more assertive than the other fella, like a time-served mechanic pounding a seized bearing. It took another ten minutes of hammering/pulling to free me from this painless torture.
For all there was no pain at any point, the blatant brutality of the experience was not lost on my psych. Once the adrenaline had worn off I felt like I’d been assaulted and the headache followed me around for a couple of days at least.