Getting The Chair

Here's the thing, I am distracted today because I need to visit the dentist tomorrow and I am here to admit that I am probably hands down the biggest most neurotic dental phobic on the planet. Please pray for me. Yikes. I have this rotten tooth that's been bothering me for a really, really long time and now I don't think I have
a choice. I MUST meet the inquisitor tomorrow and allow him to probe and pick and stick his gnarly dental fingers into my mouth. To whom do I owe this unholy nightmare you might ask? Well, sad to say—my mother! That's right, dear sweet Flossie who we've come to know and love as that funny, oddly wise woman who I love dearly. Yes, Flossie did this to me. You see, when I was a child, back in the dark ages of dentistry, Flossie forced me to go to the Temple School of Dentistry for any dental work that came along. That's right, I said SCHOOL where nineteen year-olds with red, shiny eyes, masochistic tendencies, needles the size of a broom stick and ancient drills made by Black and Decker asked me to sit still, open my mouth and then lied about how much "this won’t hurt!" I will never forget the summer I chipped a tooth when I tumbled off the sliding board onto asphalt. Yeah well, back then they didn’t think to put wood chips or something equally as cushy under the playground apparatus. No, we played on asphalt, grass was for baseball. But hey we played Lawn Darts, also. Anyhoo, what the students did to me is unspeakable. The fear only intensified when some shadowy figure lurking to the side who turned out to be an instructor (or so he claimed) would check the student's work and mutter three words that still strike terror in me, "do it over." I was so thoroughly traumatized by the time they finished that I vowed never, ever to allow another dentist to touch me again. Hence the trouble I'm in now. So I'm asking for your prayers and or kind thoughts as I go under the spotlight of the dentist tomorrow. And please pray that I am not harboring some rancid infection. I don’t do well with antibiotics either.


Pam Halter said...

You and I and Brandilyn Collins could have a dentalfest! But I think your trauma was worse than mine, although my dentist didn't believe is novacaine when drilling and if I didn't open my mouth, he'd put some kind of metal device in, screw it in place and it forced my mouth open. And my dad sat there while I cried and screamed. My mom sat in the waiting room with my baby brother.

This is the stuff nightmares are made of!

Lucy said...

Oh yikes...

I have a lovely dentist now - have never known another like him for gentleness and care - but goodness knows what I'll do if we ever move!!