I have to go to the dentist.
Remember sometime a couple of weeks ago that I said something about fearing the dentist?
“Fear” doesn’t quite capture the emotion.
“Panic” sounds better.
“Hyperventilating panic” really fits the bill.
I think it stems from the fact that growing up on the back side of nowhere, most of my dental treatment was administered without the benefit of novacaine.
Our water wasn’t flouridated (or even sanitary) and as a result, I had approximately 9,457 cavities as a child. Cavities that had to be filled without numbing agents.
I remember the dentist hitting a nerve one day and it literally brought me out of the chair. Mom remembers me coming home asking where we kept the gun. (What a witness for Jesus I was THAT day.)
I have had to hide this phobia from the kids because I really don’t want them to inherit it, and so I faithfully put on a brave face every six months and haul them in to their dentist, all the while hoping against hope that I won’t be asked to accompany them to the back room.
The noise, the smell….GAAA!!!!!!
I faithfully floss and brush in an effort to stave off the inevitable, but the inevitable has happened. I have a toothache. Boatloads of Advil in the last two days haven’t dented the pain.
I think it’s time.
This is not fun not fun not fun not fun. But it’s not a problem that’s going to get better with time. So I’m calling today to get an appointment. And documenting my intentions so that you can hold me accountable.
Do any of you share my fear? What do you do to make the experience as pleasant as possible? Do you take an iPod? A Xanax? A tranquilizer dart?
Help a sister out…