Death by Anxiety

My dental checkup/cleaning is a week from today, and even though I know I need to be an adult and go, I don't wanna. I'm afraid of the picks and the drills, and every time the latter gets near a tooth, my chest seizes and hitches, and I feel like I'm going to vomit. It's a total panic reaction, and I know it, but in this case, knowledge does not equal power, and it happens anyway. I've asked the dentist for a sedative stronger than nitrous, but he doesn't think Ativan would relax me any more than the gas. Why is it that every spoiled socialite can get sedatives by the fistful to keep them happy, but I get pooh-poohed and made to just endure it?

In happier news, the semi-annual library book sale is tomorrow. I'm planning on going, but that might change if it's too frigid when I wake up. I love browsing the shelves and tables, but my to-read pile is five hundred books long, so it's not like I need more.