| Biographical Non-Fiction posted March 30, 2022 |
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Opening wide on my dental phobia.
This Won't Hurt a Bit...
by LisaMay
True Fear Contest Winner
The worst part about it was that I felt so stupid. Here I was, a supposedly sensible adult who acknowledged that taking care of health was important, yet I hadn’t been to the dentist for many years. Previous visits had reinforced my fear and eventually it had become an irrational phobia.
Dentistry had come a long way since the junior school clinic was referred to as ‘the murder house’. According to my friends who went off happily to their regular dental appointments, procedures these days were painless. What was there to fear?
I was not scared of snakes or spiders. I could stand on the edge of a cliff and feel exhilaration rather than terror. I could give a speech in public. But I turned into a quivering wreck at the mention of ‘dentist’.
Eventually, I couldn’t put it off any longer. I got toothache and had to do something about it. As I hadn’t been for years I didn’t have a dentist in this city. I recalled a friend saying she went to see the husband of another woman we both knew. This tenuous connection was enough for me to contact that dental surgery and make an appointment.
I hate waiting at the best of times. I lead a busy life, aiming to maximise my time on Earth. A dentist’s waiting room is my idea of an introduction to Hell. When I couldn’t find an interesting magazine to distract myself, I became more and more conscious of my sweaty palms and rising heart rate. My scalp prickled with apprehension. Just as I was on the point of dashing out the door, the receptionist called my name. Fight or flight?
Summoning my waning courage, I entered the chamber of horrors. The dentist was a charming man with an affable manner, but as soon as I was in the chair I became a scared little kid. I ‘opened wide’ as instructed, but when the dentist invaded my personal space and put his fingers in my mouth I bit him.
We both laughed. He thought I’d done it as a joke. I was hysterical with fear. We tried again. This time I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to concentrate like mad on something else. But my brain was tingling and I couldn’t hold a thought. Tears trickled from the corners of my tightly closed eyes. My tensed knuckles whitened as I gripped the chair.
The dentist paused. “It’s just a check-up. I haven’t done anything yet,” he said appeasingly. “Try to relax. Pretend you have a cat on your lap and you are stroking it. You might find that helpful.”
Did I like cats? What’s a cat? My brain had stopped working. I adore cats.
The dentist offered another strategy to get me to relax. “I have lots of different music. Tell me something you like and I’ll see if I have it.”
Despite my personal stacks of records and extensive playlists, I couldn’t name one piece of music I liked. By now I was shaking, with my anxiety level off the chart in a full-on panic attack. The dentist spoke kindly to me: “I see we have a problem here. May I suggest something else?”
“Yeeeees!” I wailed. “I feel ridiculous. I need to get over this. How can you help me?”
“I think you need to talk through your fear with a clinical psychologist. I can recommend someone. He’ll be able to help you cope with what is triggering your phobic reaction.”
Discussion with the psychologist revealed a childhood incident when a dentist had lightly smacked my arm when I’d cried out. I remembered him saying in frustration: “That couldn’t possibly have hurt.” He was a big man, looming over me with a headlight on his forehead, and smelling of peppermint. I’ve hated that smell ever since. I’ve also hated feeling powerless or trapped, and have an intolerance for loud noises close at hand, such as a dental drill. I also needed to overcome having a stranger being close to me; my sense of personal space is wider than others.
The psychologist taught me relaxation techniques. A relaxed body will lead to a relaxed mind. The mind needs to work with us, not against us. It has been an interesting journey. These days I can attend regular dental appointments without flinching, but I still can’t tolerate the smell of peppermint.
The worst part about it was that I felt so stupid. Here I was, a supposedly sensible adult who acknowledged that taking care of health was important, yet I hadn’t been to the dentist for many years. Previous visits had reinforced my fear and eventually it had become an irrational phobia.
Dentistry had come a long way since the junior school clinic was referred to as ‘the murder house’. According to my friends who went off happily to their regular dental appointments, procedures these days were painless. What was there to fear?
I was not scared of snakes or spiders. I could stand on the edge of a cliff and feel exhilaration rather than terror. I could give a speech in public. But I turned into a quivering wreck at the mention of ‘dentist’.
Eventually, I couldn’t put it off any longer. I got toothache and had to do something about it. As I hadn’t been for years I didn’t have a dentist in this city. I recalled a friend saying she went to see the husband of another woman we both knew. This tenuous connection was enough for me to contact that dental surgery and make an appointment.
I hate waiting at the best of times. I lead a busy life, aiming to maximise my time on Earth. A dentist’s waiting room is my idea of an introduction to Hell. When I couldn’t find an interesting magazine to distract myself, I became more and more conscious of my sweaty palms and rising heart rate. My scalp prickled with apprehension. Just as I was on the point of dashing out the door, the receptionist called my name. Fight or flight?
Summoning my waning courage, I entered the chamber of horrors. The dentist was a charming man with an affable manner, but as soon as I was in the chair I became a scared little kid. I ‘opened wide’ as instructed, but when the dentist invaded my personal space and put his fingers in my mouth I bit him.
We both laughed. He thought I’d done it as a joke. I was hysterical with fear. We tried again. This time I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to concentrate like mad on something else. But my brain was tingling and I couldn’t hold a thought. Tears trickled from the corners of my tightly closed eyes. My tensed knuckles whitened as I gripped the chair.
The dentist paused. “It’s just a check-up. I haven’t done anything yet,” he said appeasingly. “Try to relax. Pretend you have a cat on your lap and you are stroking it. You might find that helpful.”
Did I like cats? What’s a cat? My brain had stopped working. I adore cats.
The dentist offered another strategy to get me to relax. “I have lots of different music. Tell me something you like and I’ll see if I have it.”
Despite my personal stacks of records and extensive playlists, I couldn’t name one piece of music I liked. By now I was shaking, with my anxiety level off the chart in a full-on panic attack. The dentist spoke kindly to me: “I see we have a problem here. May I suggest something else?”
“Yeeeees!” I wailed. “I feel ridiculous. I need to get over this. How can you help me?”
“I think you need to talk through your fear with a clinical psychologist. I can recommend someone. He’ll be able to help you cope with what is triggering your phobic reaction.”
Discussion with the psychologist revealed a childhood incident when a dentist had lightly smacked my arm when I’d cried out. I remembered him saying in frustration: “That couldn’t possibly have hurt.” He was a big man, looming over me with a headlight on his forehead, and smelling of peppermint. I’ve hated that smell ever since. I’ve also hated feeling powerless or trapped, and have an intolerance for loud noises close at hand, such as a dental drill. I also needed to overcome having a stranger being close to me; my sense of personal space is wider than others.
The psychologist taught me relaxation techniques. A relaxed body will lead to a relaxed mind. The mind needs to work with us, not against us. It has been an interesting journey. These days I can attend regular dental appointments without flinching, but I still can’t tolerate the smell of peppermint.
Dentistry had come a long way since the junior school clinic was referred to as ‘the murder house’. According to my friends who went off happily to their regular dental appointments, procedures these days were painless. What was there to fear?
I was not scared of snakes or spiders. I could stand on the edge of a cliff and feel exhilaration rather than terror. I could give a speech in public. But I turned into a quivering wreck at the mention of ‘dentist’.
Eventually, I couldn’t put it off any longer. I got toothache and had to do something about it. As I hadn’t been for years I didn’t have a dentist in this city. I recalled a friend saying she went to see the husband of another woman we both knew. This tenuous connection was enough for me to contact that dental surgery and make an appointment.
I hate waiting at the best of times. I lead a busy life, aiming to maximise my time on Earth. A dentist’s waiting room is my idea of an introduction to Hell. When I couldn’t find an interesting magazine to distract myself, I became more and more conscious of my sweaty palms and rising heart rate. My scalp prickled with apprehension. Just as I was on the point of dashing out the door, the receptionist called my name. Fight or flight?
Summoning my waning courage, I entered the chamber of horrors. The dentist was a charming man with an affable manner, but as soon as I was in the chair I became a scared little kid. I ‘opened wide’ as instructed, but when the dentist invaded my personal space and put his fingers in my mouth I bit him.
We both laughed. He thought I’d done it as a joke. I was hysterical with fear. We tried again. This time I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to concentrate like mad on something else. But my brain was tingling and I couldn’t hold a thought. Tears trickled from the corners of my tightly closed eyes. My tensed knuckles whitened as I gripped the chair.
The dentist paused. “It’s just a check-up. I haven’t done anything yet,” he said appeasingly. “Try to relax. Pretend you have a cat on your lap and you are stroking it. You might find that helpful.”
Did I like cats? What’s a cat? My brain had stopped working. I adore cats.
The dentist offered another strategy to get me to relax. “I have lots of different music. Tell me something you like and I’ll see if I have it.”
Despite my personal stacks of records and extensive playlists, I couldn’t name one piece of music I liked. By now I was shaking, with my anxiety level off the chart in a full-on panic attack. The dentist spoke kindly to me: “I see we have a problem here. May I suggest something else?”
“Yeeeees!” I wailed. “I feel ridiculous. I need to get over this. How can you help me?”
“I think you need to talk through your fear with a clinical psychologist. I can recommend someone. He’ll be able to help you cope with what is triggering your phobic reaction.”
Discussion with the psychologist revealed a childhood incident when a dentist had lightly smacked my arm when I’d cried out. I remembered him saying in frustration: “That couldn’t possibly have hurt.” He was a big man, looming over me with a headlight on his forehead, and smelling of peppermint. I’ve hated that smell ever since. I’ve also hated feeling powerless or trapped, and have an intolerance for loud noises close at hand, such as a dental drill. I also needed to overcome having a stranger being close to me; my sense of personal space is wider than others.
The psychologist taught me relaxation techniques. A relaxed body will lead to a relaxed mind. The mind needs to work with us, not against us. It has been an interesting journey. These days I can attend regular dental appointments without flinching, but I still can’t tolerate the smell of peppermint.
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