Yesterday it was time for my root canal therapy. My broken tooth ‘Bearfang’ (thus named in a dream) was to go under the drill. I’m usually completely relaxed at dentists (once I get away from the receptionist) but something put me on edge yesterday and I wasn’t completely sure what it was. Going through it in my mind, I think there were a lot of little things (little messages that it was a big deal), but the main thing was Mum saying loudly “if you feel funny afterwards, get the receptionist to call you a taxi.” And then she went away.
Lying in The Chair, I was handed two squidgy balls (no rude comments please) to knead nervously during the process. I had already crossed my arms and tucked my hands under my elbows, and was quite happy like that, but I took the squidgy things just to be polite.
As the words “in case you feel funny” were still ringing in my ears, I was a little unsettled when I first got in The Chair. My heart rate shot up, I breathed quickly, jammed my nails in one of the squidgy things, and worried about the ‘panic disorder’ which I was diagnosed with some years ago. If I panic it won’t be because anything’s hurting, but because I feel trapped – unable to just get up and leave. I sometimes get a little panicky in the Hairdresser’s Chair, but so far I’ve managed to ignore it! The panic, that is, not the Chair.
To overcome the same thing at the dentist, I thought about other things – gradually my breathing eased and I was relaxed again, like a dreaming cat. The two thoughts that work best are “oh, poor dentist, rather her than me,” and reciting the poems of Pam Ayres. The girl who sometimes walks Thundercloud when I can’t is having four teeth out – she had a bad extraction and is not looking forward to the next three. I told her about Pam Ayres, and she said she has recently learned some sonnets, so she’ll try reciting those. I’m not sure they’ll work as well, but they will be better than a head full of “gotta get out of here…”
It took about 40 minutes, and when I sat up, the dentist said “thank you for being such a GOOD patient!” and smiled. I grinned back like a happy toddler. I told my sister later, and she said “she didn’t say anything like that to me.”
Wriggles toes and smirks.
I didn’t feel funny either, and walked back home on my own two feet.
Bearfang is doing OK.
