How long have I been sitting here?
Hours?
Days?
The windowless walls feel like they’re closing in around me. A single neon light above gives the room an eerie glow and makes every shadow a distorted monstrosity. There I sit, alone, nervously awaiting whoever comes through a lone door in the corner.
Next to me, a small table full of sharp and twisted instruments that will surely be used to inflict excruciating amounts of pain.
I tell myself to not look at them, and yet I can’t look away.
As I silently curse my predicament, I can’t help but think, “please get this over with.” After all, waiting is the worst part.
Actually, it’s the second worst. The worst, of course, is knowing that I have nobody to blame for this predicament but myself. Afterall, it was my choices that led me here.
The door opens and a woman enters. She quietly puts on a pair of rubber gloves and gives me a look that turns my blood cold. I am convinced her overly pleasant smile is hiding an absolutely masochistic psychosis.
“Hello Stephen. Shall we begin?” she says in an accent that I can’t quite place.
The metal chair activates, and slowly begins to recline into the floor.
I stare up at the ceiling, slowly close my eyes, and quietly begin to panic.
For the first time in 3 years, I am at the dentist.
Why I hate the Dentist
You’re probably now saying, “Damnit, Steve! I thought you were actually in trouble. You’re just going to the dentist! You are a terrible person and I hope somebody kicks you in the shin today.”
Sorry about that. I promise this has a point and you will learn a valuable life lesson today.
If you couldn’t tell, I hate the dentist. In fact, I would say have an actual phobia of going to one. And last week, for the first time in 3 years, I got my teeth cleaned.
I’m not afraid of the dentist because of the sterility of the building, or because the dentist himself is scary, or the fact that it’s always uncomfortable for me.
It’s more deeply rooted in shame back to my childhood, believe it or not.
When I was younger I used to drink a lot of sugary soda. Sunkist and Sprite were my favorites. Oh and Starburst candy! I also have soft teeth. So it wasn’t surprising that I would eventually get a cavity – I remember it like it was yesterday, because I thought it was the end of the world. I saw it as a major character defect, and if I remember correctly, my mom had to console me that it didn’t make me a broken person. Despite this deep shame I felt about my teeth being imperfect, I didn’t want to accept it.
… And that led to more problems.
Every time I would go to the dentist, it felt like I was playing Russian Roulette. Sometimes I would get a good check-up. Sometimes I would get drilled.
And every time I got drilled, the shame came rushing back. And so going to the dentist became an actual fear of mine.
Every 6 months, I could feel the hairs on my neck instinctively stand up when I found out it was time for my routine cleaning. The car ride to the dentist with my mom felt like William Wallace’s ride to the chopping block: “I don’t know what you’re going to do to me, but please just get it over with.”
It was never the time in the chair that ruined me, it was the anxiety leading up to the moment the dental hygienist would get started.
WORRYING that I would get yelled at, KNOWING that I probably had a cavity, and WAITING for them to decide my teeth’s fate. Sometimes they would drill. Sometimes they would lecture me on flossing. Sometimes I would get a clean bill of health.
Regardless of the outcome, I was a little ball of stress walking in. Every single time.
Now that I’m older, my dental hygiene has significantly improved. I’ve been using an electric toothbrush for years. I don’t drink soda, I don’t eat candy, and I generally take care of my mouth. I even bought those little floss pick things and manage to floss every once in awhile!
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