Struggling with Dental Phobia

My 8-year-old son is in the dentist�s chair. I�m in the waiting room having an anxiety attack, preparing to relive the agony of my own dental history. I�m scarred from dozens of visits to Dr. J�s office on Jamaica Ave in Brooklyn.

My 8-year-old son is in the dentist’s chair. I’m in the waiting room having an anxiety attack, preparing to relive the agony of my own dental history.

He needs four fillings. He’s never had a bad dental experience; in eight years he’s only had one cavity and that was a surface one that didn’t require any anesthetic. His Cleveland dentist had an office designed just for children (I asked if he would treat me, he declined – only deals with the kids because most of them haven’t learned to fear him yet) and Yisrael enjoyed going there.

He was a little apprehensive about coming here this morning because the office isn’t as nice and fun-looking as the one that is now thousands of miles away. I couldn’t offer him much comfort because I’m petrified of having my teeth worked on.

I’m scarred from dozens of visits to Dr. J’s office on Jamaica Ave in Brooklyn. My memories are filled with tortures (exaggerated? I’m not too sure). Dr. J “had quite a racket going”, my mother tells me as she reminds me that his office was upstairs from a confection shop he owned. When he was done torturing me (i.e., drilling and filling), he would smile and hand me a coupon to go downstairs and get a sweet treat to expose my raw enamel to. By the time I was 5, he had to extract all of my baby molars. I remember the nurse putting a green ring over my mouth and telling me to breathe in. And the sensation of falling into a downward spiral while choking from the awful smell of ether; something I’ve had flashbacks of throughout my life.  That was 45 years ago, but the smell of dental clove oil still has the power to cause me to break out in a cold sweat.

I hear the dentist telling my son to do that now, “Breathe in”. “It will be different this time”, the doctor told me when I voiced my concerns the day the appointment was made, “he’s only getting laughing gas to calm him”.    It’s quiet in there now, a few moments ago the dentist explained that he would be drilling a hole to get the bad stuff out and then filling it. Now he’s telling Yisrael to say “ah”.

I’m anxious about him getting a shot of Novocain. I remember my first; I sat fear-gripped digging my fingernails into the upholstered arms of the chair while a sadistic overweight dentist wearing heavy cologne approached me holding a needle that must have been at least a foot long! In those days they didn’t use the anesthetic gel to numb the area before sticking the needle in and twisting it around until it hit nerves.

I overhear a conversation now that tells me my son isn’t cooperating. It seems that he didn’t completely understand the sealant process. I don’t either since they didn’t apply sealant when I was a child. He keeps closing his mouth. The dentist says that he’s “trying to apply the final coat of nail polish”. And then “No Yisrael, don’t close your mouth. No, get your tongue away!”

I want to run in and rescue my child from this experience but I know he needs the teeth filled and I’m trying my best not to pass my fears on to him the way I did with my daughter who is now 27. When she was young I insisted on being in the room while the dentist worked on her teeth.  Looking back, I’m sure that my body language shouted “run, run for your life while you still can!” It was probably during those visits that I caused the enamel on my teeth to crack from clenching. Despite me she has managed to overcome her fears and take better care of her teeth than I did of mine.

The dentist is praising him, “Good, yeah, that was a good one. Much better! Super!”

He’s not crying or screaming, so I try to stay seated.

“Open, open, that’s good. Open up, open up, perfect!”

“Don’t…” his voice trails off getting softer and I can’t hear what he’s saying. I’m getting tense.

“Okay, let’s rinse, very good.”

The nurse is making high pitched vocal sounds and the doctor is speaking softly; I can’t make out what he’s saying. 

“A couple more of these and its finished”, he sings.

What could he be talking about? I haven’t heard the drill yet. “Please don’t set false expectations for my son, he’s too smart for that”, I think to myself.

“Good, excellent, alright who wants a drink of water?” says Dr. D.

So far, so good I guess.

“Ahhh, big brush!” my son is laughing. I’m amazed.

I hear the drill and my body regresses to rigid mode.

 I hear “ow”. Not good. Could it be that they have given him Novocain already without either of us knowing?

There goes the drill again and the dentist says “Great, open nice and wide. Open wider, wider. You can open more than that. Okay, on the count of three we are done. One, two, and three! Okay, now some air. Open nice and wide.”

They’re talking about motorcycles, my son is laughing. Dr. D is making engine noises and begins drilling again.

“Your ear and nose are wet? Okay, one, two and three!” he’s done again. I’m amazed.

Quiet again, but this time I’m able to sit back and let out a deep breath.

“One last one”, announces the dentist.

“I’m ready!” roars Yisrael in a Toy Story style cowboy hoot.

“Open wide, one, two, and three.”

There’s an alarm ringing and the receptionist is on the phone. I strain to hear what’s happening in the next room. I think he’s put the filling in because I hear him counting “nine, ten, eleven, and twelve. Air. Good.”

I’m not sure exactly what’s happening but my son’s enthusiastic response to the dentist has enabled me to stop clenching my teeth.

“Okay, good”, says the dentist.

And now I hear the air noises again. The receptionist is on the phone and I can’t hear what the dentist is saying. And there’s the drill again and more “okay, one, two, and three. Open wide. Woohoo!” hollers Dr. D.

I imagine my son is actually enjoying this.   This is the exact opposite of my childhood experiences. When I was fifteen I remember grabbing the dentist’s tie in an attempt to choke him to death when he insisted “come on now, this isn’t hurting you”! That was my last dental visit for seventeen years.

“I need a little more, ready?” asked Dr. D.

“Bring it on!” yelled my son.

And there goes the drill again. I hate that sound. I can almost feel it again. The vibrations through the anesthetic, the slip of the drill into my gums, and the “Oops!” from my dental ogre.

“Woohoo!” yells my son.

“One, two, three, four, and five, six, seven”, counts the dentist up to twenty-two.

“Ow!”

“Okay”, says Dr. D, “Yisrael, Yisrael, are you okay?”

“Okay”, replies my son.

“Let’s get out the nail polish.”

I anxiously wonder “what on earth is going on in there”.

“Bite.”

I assume he’s put the filling in. Now Dr. D. is making car engine sounds again. I imagine Yisrael is smiling.

Silence again. I’m feeling worn out and hope that Dr. D has miraculously drilled and filled all four teeth in the thirty minutes my son has been in his chair. If he’s got two more to go, I may not make it.

I recall my husband being given an anesthetic called Twilight preceding an upper GI examination and think that would be good for dental work as well. It would be nice to not remember any of the unpleasant and frightening sensations that occur during the process.

“Okay, take a bite. Say Ah.”

“Ah.”

“Again”

“Ah”

“Ready? Open real wide. Okay, again. He’s great, doing great. All he has to do is open. Beautiful!”

And there’s the drill again.

“Ah again”

“Ah”

“Open, ah. Open, open, Yisrael, open.”

Yisrael is gagging. It takes all my energy to restrain myself from running to him. I stop because I know it would embarrass him.

“Too much water? What happened? Okay, count one, two, three, Yisrael.”

Drill again.

“Ah, let me see.”

“Ah”

“This is the last one. Twenty seconds and you’re out of here. Okay, ah.”

“Ahhhhh”, he sings.

“Open. One, two, three, four”, counts Dr. D to twenty. “Water, air, open, open, super dry!”

It’s only 12:10 p.m. and I’m wiped out for the day.  I have a flashback from a root canal I had in California after going seventeen years without a dental check up. A bad reaction to the Novocain had me shaking and the doctor running for help. The nurse brought me a cup of orange juice and sat with me until I stabilized. Then the doctor came in and told me to make sure I never accept that drug again and to ask for Lidocaine instead. It took three sessions for him to finish the work of that root canal and crown. I recall the overwhelming feeling of nausea I got from the odor of the material he used to make the mold for the crown; I had to sit with that in my mouth gagging for about fifteen minutes. It was after this event that I began telling people that I would much rather go through the pain of childbirth without anesthetic than go to the dentist. Another ten years passed. I was pregnant with Yisrael and broke a tooth on a walnut shell while eating from a bag of “shelled” nuts.   The new dentist put in four temporary fillings while he waited three years for me to stop nursing. By that time I needed a double root canal and crown. The preliminary work was all done without anesthetic at my choosing because a dose for a normal person would leave my mouth numb for more than twenty-four hours and cause breathing difficulty.

“What’s that, air on your nose? Open wide. Nice”, sang Dr. D.

More office noise and I can’t hear what’s being said but I hear the drill, maybe he’s polishing the top of the fillings.

“Excellent, take some water and rinse. You can drink if you want. Are you ready? Yisrael? That’s good. Excellent! Keep going forward. A little more forward. That’s it. Good. Okay. I’m going to show you…”

More office noise is preventing me from hearing the conversation.  It doesn’t matter, I’m exhausted.   I realize that my teeth and jaw are sore from clenching throughout this experience and wonder if it will ever be possible for me to let go of the fear and have a fun dental experience. 

“Super, try it on the top gums, go ahead. Floss around the gums, don’t be afraid. It won’t hurt.”

Good. I take this as a sign that the drilling is over, he’s teaching him to floss properly. This dentist has the patience of a saint.

“Ouch!”

It is hurting him to floss, but I’m okay with this level of pain because flossing also hurts me sometimes – it’s not terrible. We’ve inherited soft teeth that go back at least three generations that I’m aware of.

The dentist is giving him special tooth paste and cleaning the dirt out of his puffy gums.

“Okay, how do you feel?”

“Good.”

“Let’s wipe your face. You did super, let’s get you a prize!”

And out they stroll happily into the waiting area. 

“He did great!” Dr D enthusiastically says.

“YOU did great”, I reply, “I’m almost ready to make an appointment for myself.”

Yisrael tells me what a great time he had and asks when he can come back again! He’s still high from the laughing gas.

Dr. D explains the work he did and I pay the receptionist 1750 shekels (approx. $450) for which I’m told the insurance will reimburse me twenty percent. Ouch! Now that really hurt.

Author's Note

I have little experience writing dialogue and would appreciate constructive feedback.

Reviews

[perfectlymetiKulous]

I'm never going to be an expert at writing dialogue, and I don't think you should attempt to be, either. The way you've written this connects with the reader, and is very engaging. I loved the way you told the story, and blended the narrator's story with that of his son to illuminate the vast differences between their experiences with the dentist. This was a fresh, funny, and amazing read. I really enjoyed it.

[Casper Cross]

I loved this and I found myself smiling the whole time. I normally don't like to smile I think I might try it a little more often. Anyway, you really spin a great yarn here. Who isn't afraid of going to the dentist. I swear I think that this simple little act is a form of CIA mind control. I envision them bringing dentists down to Gitmo just to do some fillings for the terrorists. If they aren't they probably should consider it. I bet they would talk a whole lot faster than putting them through water board treatments.

Anyway, to be serious, I very much enjoyed your story and will now go on to have nightmares of my own previous visits to the dentist.
Thanks alot for that one.

[Shellie]

I thought this was perfect, I'm not an expert at this myself I am only branching out recently to writing stories from 10 years of poetry but i read and review stories alot, and I thogh this was great. The dialogue you have needs to be there as it fits with your nervousness. Honest great work, a great story.