I am almost 30 years old, which means I have been an adult for over a decade. In that time, I feel like I've handled the majority of the required 'adult' activities quite well: budgeting, getting a career, living out of home. I was lucky enough to have wonderful parents who were great examples for me and my siblings.
However there is one area that I need to improve in- booking appointments for the dentist. I can probably count on 2 hands the amount of times I have been to the dentist in my adult life. And I definitely wouldn't need all of my fingers. The issue is that I hate it. Not just a little bit. A lot. I hate the sounds. The buzzing of the drill. The suction tube...sucking. The smell is the worse though. That really clean odour that hits you as soon as you walk into the place. Smells are such a powerful way to bring back memories and unfortunately recollections of dentist visits past come flooding back as soon as the door closes behind me.
The first memory is of the dentist truck at Primary School. I'm really not sure how prevalent these were throughout the world, so I'll explain: essentially it was a large caravan that had been turned into a travelling dentist. It would be taken from school to school and parents could sign up for their children to have a quick check-up. Thinking about the concept now it was presumably at a discounted rate and for the convenience of the working parent. There was nothing more terrifying than arriving at school and seeing that big white van parked behind the school hall and next to the dumpsters- as if school wasn't bad enough. Then came the waiting. You never actually knew when your appointment would be. As it was quite a large school, the truck would sometimes be there for weeks and weeks, only enhancing the anxiety which rattled my tiny body. The system worked like this: at the start of the day one student would be called over the loudspeaker and be told to make their way to the truck. Once their 45minutes of hell was over, they would then get a slip of paper with the name and class of the next victim and they would have to go and collect them and then it repeated till the end of the day. So not only are you terrified about what is going to happen, you are also told that your torture is going to begin by a clearly rattled, pale peer, with a mouth full of cotton balls and drool coming down their chin. Then you make your way to the van in a very isolated part of the school to be met by two strangers and that smell.
Which brings me to the next thing I hate about the dentist: how my body reacts.
(A little back story here. When I was 8 my parents organised a 2 week holiday in Queensland, Australia. We didn't really do big holidays so this was a huge deal. I was so excited about the plane trip, snorkelling on the Barrier Reef, walking through rainforests. Amazing. I counted down from about 150 days out.
The night before our flight, I couldn't swallow. Not food (as usual I could eat just fine), but my saliva. I remember lying in bed and I physically couldn't do it. I freaked out and we had to head to a 24 hour doctor whose diagnosis was "This kid is suffering from a case of being too fucking excited".)
Now, back to the dentist. Ever since that incident, I've always struggled at the dentist because it just takes me back to that night of horror of not being able to swallow. And because the back of your throat is basically just filled with water the entire time you're at the dentist, and your body wants to swallow it but can't, it makes it incredibly traumatic. Hence, my body tenses. My whole body. While at the dentist today I actually had a moment of clarity and I realised exactly how I was lying there- just imagine me in an invisible straight jacket, arms squashed on my chest and shoulders up around my ears. I was yelling at my body to just relax, but couldn't do it. And it's funny, because I'm obviously uncomfortable and before the procedure started the dentist did say that if I needed a break I could just raise my hand and stop. But if I do, then it just makes it all go longer. And I don't want to be there any longer than necessary.
Next was when I had a rotten tooth pulled out, one week after moving to Bangkok, Thailand. This was an experience. I'd bitten into a piece of chicken at school (which I'd just started and was trying to make friends) and I just felt it go crunch (my tooth, not the chicken). Rather than going to the nurse, for the next two hours I stupidly just accepted the pain and told myself that I'd tell mum when I got home. Naturally, she rushed me straight to the only dentist we knew- the wife of my dad's boss. Now she was a lovely lady, but she was understandably nervous as she was suddenly thrust into a situation where she was treating her husband's Australian employee's son. After a quick inspection, she announced "2 minutes and we'll have it out".
An hour and about 10 needles later I finally heard the second crunch of the day, which was the sound of roots finally breaking. I remember never being as happy as when I heard that noise. The tooth slipped out and the entire room relaxed. I went home, excited that my final baby tooth was out. I'm sure that the dentist went home and had a well deserved wine.
However, despite this dentist vent, I am very lucky to have great teeth. Growing up I never had to have braces thanks to some good genes and very few fillings. I was told today that apart from a bit of gum trouble, my teeth are in peak condition. As I left, the dentist said "I don't think we'll have to see you for a while at least!"
Thank god. The smell in there was horrible.
However there is one area that I need to improve in- booking appointments for the dentist. I can probably count on 2 hands the amount of times I have been to the dentist in my adult life. And I definitely wouldn't need all of my fingers. The issue is that I hate it. Not just a little bit. A lot. I hate the sounds. The buzzing of the drill. The suction tube...sucking. The smell is the worse though. That really clean odour that hits you as soon as you walk into the place. Smells are such a powerful way to bring back memories and unfortunately recollections of dentist visits past come flooding back as soon as the door closes behind me.
The first memory is of the dentist truck at Primary School. I'm really not sure how prevalent these were throughout the world, so I'll explain: essentially it was a large caravan that had been turned into a travelling dentist. It would be taken from school to school and parents could sign up for their children to have a quick check-up. Thinking about the concept now it was presumably at a discounted rate and for the convenience of the working parent. There was nothing more terrifying than arriving at school and seeing that big white van parked behind the school hall and next to the dumpsters- as if school wasn't bad enough. Then came the waiting. You never actually knew when your appointment would be. As it was quite a large school, the truck would sometimes be there for weeks and weeks, only enhancing the anxiety which rattled my tiny body. The system worked like this: at the start of the day one student would be called over the loudspeaker and be told to make their way to the truck. Once their 45minutes of hell was over, they would then get a slip of paper with the name and class of the next victim and they would have to go and collect them and then it repeated till the end of the day. So not only are you terrified about what is going to happen, you are also told that your torture is going to begin by a clearly rattled, pale peer, with a mouth full of cotton balls and drool coming down their chin. Then you make your way to the van in a very isolated part of the school to be met by two strangers and that smell.
Which brings me to the next thing I hate about the dentist: how my body reacts.
(A little back story here. When I was 8 my parents organised a 2 week holiday in Queensland, Australia. We didn't really do big holidays so this was a huge deal. I was so excited about the plane trip, snorkelling on the Barrier Reef, walking through rainforests. Amazing. I counted down from about 150 days out.
The night before our flight, I couldn't swallow. Not food (as usual I could eat just fine), but my saliva. I remember lying in bed and I physically couldn't do it. I freaked out and we had to head to a 24 hour doctor whose diagnosis was "This kid is suffering from a case of being too fucking excited".)
Now, back to the dentist. Ever since that incident, I've always struggled at the dentist because it just takes me back to that night of horror of not being able to swallow. And because the back of your throat is basically just filled with water the entire time you're at the dentist, and your body wants to swallow it but can't, it makes it incredibly traumatic. Hence, my body tenses. My whole body. While at the dentist today I actually had a moment of clarity and I realised exactly how I was lying there- just imagine me in an invisible straight jacket, arms squashed on my chest and shoulders up around my ears. I was yelling at my body to just relax, but couldn't do it. And it's funny, because I'm obviously uncomfortable and before the procedure started the dentist did say that if I needed a break I could just raise my hand and stop. But if I do, then it just makes it all go longer. And I don't want to be there any longer than necessary.
Next was when I had a rotten tooth pulled out, one week after moving to Bangkok, Thailand. This was an experience. I'd bitten into a piece of chicken at school (which I'd just started and was trying to make friends) and I just felt it go crunch (my tooth, not the chicken). Rather than going to the nurse, for the next two hours I stupidly just accepted the pain and told myself that I'd tell mum when I got home. Naturally, she rushed me straight to the only dentist we knew- the wife of my dad's boss. Now she was a lovely lady, but she was understandably nervous as she was suddenly thrust into a situation where she was treating her husband's Australian employee's son. After a quick inspection, she announced "2 minutes and we'll have it out".
An hour and about 10 needles later I finally heard the second crunch of the day, which was the sound of roots finally breaking. I remember never being as happy as when I heard that noise. The tooth slipped out and the entire room relaxed. I went home, excited that my final baby tooth was out. I'm sure that the dentist went home and had a well deserved wine.
However, despite this dentist vent, I am very lucky to have great teeth. Growing up I never had to have braces thanks to some good genes and very few fillings. I was told today that apart from a bit of gum trouble, my teeth are in peak condition. As I left, the dentist said "I don't think we'll have to see you for a while at least!"
Thank god. The smell in there was horrible.