DENTISTS AND DEMONS

I hate dentists.  I know a lot of people say they hate dentists - but I really really hate dentists. From age 9-15 I went to a psychopathic orthodontist with pale skin, a receding hairline and an impatient, uncaring, mean demeanor.   I can still picture the waiting room of his office.  As you sit in a chair to the right is the reception window where a lovely lady sat. To the left of the reception  window was a short hallway that went down to about four rooms.  Lining the walls were rows and rows of white teeth - before and after plaster teeth models to demonstrate what a good job Dr. Psychopath did.  Whenever I went in to see Dr. Psychopath I would always get nauseas in the car.   I never knew what new torture awaited me.  Would he just check around and say all looks good, you’re on your way.   Or would he decide that this was a tightening day - a day in which he would take out his trusty torture device and twist the wires that were fitted onto the bands in order to move the teeth.  Not only was the act of the twist painful but I knew that for the next three days I would barely be able to eat.  The only words I ever heard Dr. Psychopath mutter were “open”, “close", “spit” and “oh stop it” (when I made any sound at all or gave the slightest indication that I was in pain or uncomfortable).  I did not know anything about Dr. Psychopath.  Why did he take such great pleasure in torturing young children?  Why could he not show even the slightest modicum of sympathy?  Why did my Mom continue to take me to Dr. Psychopath for my orthodontics?  Was he married, did he have children of his own who he tortured in the same way?  I recently found a small spiral bound journal my Mom had given me to write down my feelings about my orthodontic treatment.  I was quite emotional reading it as I thought maybe it wasn’t as bad as I remember but in fact it was.  My descriptions were that of a child being tortured every month by a monster in a white coat.  

And so, I avoid dentists at all costs.  My longest stint of avoiding a dentist was six years.  I have finally matured enough and am worried enough that something terrible will happen to my teeth requiring extensive treatment and torture that I make myself go once a year for a check up and teeth cleaning.  But I need nitrous.  I always balk at the idea that getting your teeth cleaned is a good feeling.  People have told me that they love getting their teeth cleaned.  Obviously they are insane. I have been known to turn around and go back home and miss my appointments so anxious I was.  I change dentists about every two-three years.  I don’t know why.  I just can’t keep going to the same dentist for some reason.  Maybe it’s too much of a commitment for me?  One day I will go to a therapist and figure that out.  Whenever I do introduce myself to a new dentist I always tell them “Once I am in this chair I become nine years old again, scared of the psychopathic orthodontist.”  I require nitrous, I put my earbuds in, I close my eyes and I do deep breathing.  And I tell the hygienist to not talk to me, to not chat with me, to just get busy and do his/her job as quickly as possible.  They just don’t understand what it takes for me to be sitting in that chair.  Very often once they are finished and I haven’t run screaming from the room in a total panic attack they will say “You say you have trouble with dentists but you didn’t have any trouble at all.”  They obviously were not inside my head or they would have seen how much work it was for me to sit calmly in that chair.  Of course it looks like I didn’t have any trouble, I had nitrous, music and deep breathing.  Just because I didn’t leap out of the chair does not mean I didn’t have trouble, it simply means I didn’t show you how hard I was working to stay in that chair.   

One day I went to the dentist for a teeth cleaning.  The hygienist was someone new so I was instantly on high alert.  I wanted my usual dental hygienist.  But I decided to just let it go and  I went through my usual explanation of why I needed nitrous for my teeth cleaning.  She was extremely sympathetic, not something I usually get from dental hygienists.  Once we got started I felt very relaxed with this person who was showing me some compassion and the nitrous floaty feeling and I mentioned to her that this was also a very difficult time for me because my Mom had died 6 weeks earlier.  Again with the sympathy and then she said “Well, I will crank up the nitrous so for just one hour this afternoon you can stop thinking about how sad you are about your Mom.”  I liked this woman.  As she worked on me she talked and I got higher and higher.  She mentioned that a few years ago her brother had died at the age of 28.  They had found a mole on his back and the MDs didn’t move quickly enough.  They kept putting him off to get it tested until he finally insisted.  At that point it was too late and he died of a melanoma.  Between the nitrous and my Mom and her brother the tears started dripping down my cheek.  She also became teary eyed as we commiserated about grief and sadness and how to get past it.  How missed our family members were and how they would always hold a special place in our heart.  In between the scraping and the polishing and the flossing I told her about my Mom and she told me about her brother.  It was by far the best therapy session I had in a long time.  When the cleaning was over we both thanked each other and I went on with my day feeling cleansed somehow.  I tried to go back to the same hygienist but by the time I made an appointment the following year she had left the practice.  I didn’t go to a dentist for another three years.  

People have a hard time understanding phobias.  I have a hard time understanding my own phobias.  Of course I know Dr. Psychopath is not going to show up and all but one of the dentists I have gone to has always treated me kindly even after they tried to talk me out of the nitrous for teeth cleaning.  But Dr. Psychopath is deeply entrenched in my psyche and the minute I even hear the sound of a drill or the suction or the water swirling down the drain, my heart rate increases and my flight response takes over.  I wonder how many other children Dr. Psychopath affected in this way.  I heard many years later that he was going through a particularly contentious divorce the years I was seeing him.  Is that it?  Did he take out all of his frustrations and anger stemming from his divorce on the kids he was treating?  

As a nurse I often meet people with needle phobias.  Usually the phobia stems from some bad experience in their childhood just as my dental phobia does.  I tell them I totally get it.  And as I am putting in the IV I tell them my own story.  They appreciate that someone takes them seriously and empathizes with them.  I appreciate that they tell me about their fear so I can go a little slower and work with them and their phobia but still get the job done.  One time I was chatting with one of my patients who seemed perfectly fine.  But as soon as I stuck her she burst into tears.  I thought I hurt her and immediately began apologizing.  But she shook her head, no I had not hurt her.  She had spent many months in the hospital with her daughter who had to constantly be stuck with IVs up until the day she died the previous year.  Having this IV had brought back all of the memories of those interminable days in the hospital.  I get it.  

I wish more people would understand that we are all behaving in a way that reflects our many life experiences.

“Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.  Be Kind.  Always.”