August 13, 2002

Surviving the Dentist

I'm not sure how much I've spoken about it, but over the last 8 years or so I've developed a deep and abiding fear of the dentist. Bordering on the ridiculous, really. I've been known to cancel appointments at the last minute, and then not call the dentist back when they've left a voicemail message asking me to call and re-schedule. I've even been known to not answer the phone at all, if the caller ID tells me it's "them".

I blame it on my (former) dentist, and the oral surgeon he recommended for my wisdom teeth. Long time readers will recall my description of *that* nightmare - an overdose of Nitrous, followed by me begging the surgeon and technician to take the mask off my face, followed by them refusing and physically restraining me in the chair, followed by me vomiting all over myself and them.

I think I had my last cleaning a year and a half or two years ago. My dentist, the one Marie is still going to, is terribly rough and has no chairside manner to speak of. A fact Marie complains of bitterly whenever she has to go to get her braces adjusted. We can't switch her mid-process, but as soon as they're off I'm going to suggest to her that she switch to my *new* dentist.

See, I've been having rather gruesome nightmares involving all of my teeth rotting and falling out of my head, or my wisdom teeth growing *backwards* and poking out through my cheek. I have some sensitivity, I *know* I need my wisdom teeth removed (I think they're what's causing my headaches), and I'm in desperate need of a cleaning. So one day while extolling on my misery to my boss, she recommended her own dentist. I decided to grow up, bite the bullet, stop acting like a big damned baby, and just get the whole thing over with.

My first appointment was this morning. I was going into it with my usual amount of glaring, blazing, overwhelming skepticism about the whole affair. I plotted escape routes as I walked up to the building. I formulated excuses for any panic-induced flight in my mind, and had a glib story ready to go on the tip of my tongue.

Oh me of little faith. I must say it was the least miserable dental experience I've ever had. I wouldn't go so far as to say it was *fun* (and if I ever do go that far, please have my head examined), but the technician was extremely sympathetic (giggling, but sympathetic) as I explained my embarrassing phobia to her. She said, "Served him right if you threw up on him, if he wouldn't listen to you and take the mask off." She whipped me through a series of ex-rays (the whole head one, and the one they do with those uncomfortable tab thingies they stick in your mouth), all the time being so genuinely sunshiny that I actually started to relax.

Then the dentist came along. He sat and just plain ol' chatted with myself and the technician for a good ten minutes or so - he asked me what I do when I'm not at the dentists, and we talked about dogs, and kids, and grandparents. I said that his approach was refreshing, as not only was my appointment on time, but it was remarkably unhurried and made me feel much less like I was at the MVD - another one in a long line of cattle. He said "Well, I've never seen a tooth walk in here on its own, demanding treatment. My philosophy is to treat the entire person, and *then* get to the teeth." He went on to say that he actually asks his schedulers to book him for less patients during the day, so he can spend more time with each of them and not hurry. That's something he kept stressing through the whole appointment - "There's no hurry, we've got plenty of time."

He wanted to know *my* expectations of *him* (by God), and asked for the complete details of any issues I have so he could make my experience "the least sucky it can be." He, apparently, had the same bad Nitrous experience I had, and wanted to become a dentist just so he could do it the right way. Plus, he said, he grew up in the South. "I grew up with folks who thought that you were born, you got your baby teeth, you lost your baby teeth, you got your adult teeth, you lost your adult teeth, you got dentures. There's no reason why you can't keep your own teeth for your whole life!"

Now, I'm sure a lot of this was just his own internal PR engine clocking up the dollar signs - because I told him if I liked him enough I'd drag the rest of my family to him, as well.

But really, he was as good as his word. He was very careful in explaining the developed ex-rays. He checked my entire mouth for signs of oral cancer (which I don't have) and checked my gums for recession (which I have a minor amount of). He poked each of my teeth to check for cavities (of which I have two). All the while he was gentle, and deliberate. A much needed change from the former dentist's inane chatter and slap-dash manhandling. He carefully explained everything he was about to do before he did it, and showed me the implements he used so I wouldn't freak out when he came at my face with a sharp little hook. I'd pointed out where my sensitivities were (exposed roots, apparently), and he didn't make me twinge once. Really, he and the technician were treating me with the gentle kindness they'd show to a child at her first visit to the dentist, but they managed to not make it seem condescending.

It's a miracle. I've found a good dentist. I'm scheduled for a cleaning in two weeks, and after that they'll be covering up my exposed roots. After that we'll take care of the cavities (I shudder at the drill, but they apparently have these VR goggles with headphones on which one can watch DVD's while the dentist is doing his thing), and then after *that* is the oral surgeon for my wisdom teeth extraction. He comes highly recommended, as well, and has been known to remove four tricky wisdom teeth in a matter of a half an hour.

Hallelujah. If I can manage not to throw up on him, anyway. I'm not convinced that I'm fully cured, but time will tell. I've got to get a few positive dental experiences under my belt.

Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of "Survivor - The Dentists".

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©Laura Charon 2000 - 2002.