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Triple
Crown I have this unreasonable fear of pain in the dentist chair. Last Monday was no different. I was fine when I got to the office. I joked around with everyone who works there. We laughed like we were at a bar on a festive Friday night. I got into the chair and donned my bib, shot the breeze, then Kellie, the DDS, came in. She shot me up with novocaine, and we laughed some more waiting for the numbness to set in. When I was sufficiently numb, she put on her mask and her magnifying glasses with the light on them, and started up the drill on my teeth. My body tightened into a knot, my face scrunched up, and Mary, the assistant, had to repeatedly remind me to breathe. I couldn't. My breath was so shallow it made me more tense. I couldn't relax enough to get a full breath. I felt like I was going to pass out and die right there in the chair. Recent painful events came to the surface. Daily stresses were at the forefront of my thought. I thought this was the end for me. I'm serious! Kellie asked if I was ok, I said no, and we took a break. I caught my breath, she stretched, then we started up again. The drill went on, and the scene repeated itself. We took another break, breathed, started the drill, and soon we needed yet another break. Not we. I. I am horrified of getting hurt. Horrified! I wasn't having a small cavity filled (although my reaction isn't much different for that). I was having the prep work done for three crowns on the bottom right side of my mouth. I suddenly realized three teeth right in a row would no longer be mine by the end of this appointment. The drill for this work is more like a grinder. The bit looks like something you put through concrete or a beef bone, not on a tooth. It even sounds like it is going through concrete. It is a much lower pitch than the shrillness of a smaller bit for smaller jobs. I never should have looked at its jagged tip. Kellie asked if I wanted nitrous (laughing gas). I said no thanks, I don't like it. "I l-o-o-o-v-e nitrous," she said with a big, white, perfect smile. "When I'm in the chair, I don't want to feel a thing." After the next freak-out/take-a-break cycle, Kellie asked if I wanted headphones. She'd gone to her dentist a few days before, and she used music to drown out the sound of the drill. "I want to be as far away as I can from what the dentist is doing." It helped to know that Kellie puts herself through this torture, too. This information made her human, not the enemy. I took the headphones. Everyone was rocking out, I had The Temptations turned up so loud. The music finally sedated me. I was relaxed enough and far away enough to logically look at what was going on. In a dream-like state, I realized that this should not hurt. Kellie had given me three shots, and I was very numb. There was no reason to be afraid of pain. I understood then that you have to trust your dentist. You are in a vulnerable space in that chair. As you trust your dentist, she has to care for you in return. I trust Kellie. I trust Kellie to not hurt me. 'She will not hurt me' became my mantra. I relaxed with this thought. I settled into the chair with that reassurance. My heart knew I was safe. The appointment took almost an hour longer than it should have, all because I couldn't take the pain I was expecting that was never coming. Suddenly, I felt childish. I went home to soft food, Ibu's, Arnica and tea. As the anesthetic slowly wore off, I kept asking myself why I react like that at the dentist. This fear of pain is irrational. It makes no sense! I know Kellie is not going to hurt me. I reassured myself that she subjects herself to crowns, bridges, veneers and fillings, and that if they were horrible procedures, she would not subject me or anyone else to them. Why am I so afraid? As I got into bed, it finally dawned on me. It's historical. It goes back to my childhood. My dad was a dentist and used to work on me with no novocaine. I don't remember those appointments, but I do remember when he told me about novocaine. I must have been about 12. I was pissed. Why didn't he let me have it all those years? Why did he torture me like that? No wonder I didn't like him very much. My response of tensing up, holding my breath, scrunching my face and crying - that is me at 6 or 8. No wonder I felt childish leaving Kellie's office. What a revelation! It was suddenly very clear to me why I hate going to the dentist, and why I have this irrational behavior when I'm there. Next time, I'll be conscious of my reaction. I'll relax and tell myself I'm not 6 and that my dad is not working on me. I'll remember I'm 48, and this is my friend, Kellie, behind the mask. I'll start on my mantra and tap my feet to The Temptations. I better face my fears now, because I'll be in Kellie's chair all winter. This is the beginning of a lot of work. I'll be getting real familiar with that concrete drill bit, so I better deal with my fears. * |
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