Saturday, September 30, 2006

Dentist phobia

Next week we'll be running around to a lot of different appointments. Karate starts up and then there's blood tests, a visit to the pediatrician, we need to order new glasses, and go to the dentist. Plus I'm now working 5 days a week instead of being on call. The steady work is nice, don't get me wrong. You just lose some of the flexibility that comes with being a substitute.

Have I ever told you you how much I hate going to the dentist? I don't despise the dentist themselves, just having my teeth worked on. Those little machines in my mouth drilling, hygenists scolding you about brushing no matter what you do, and what is that stupid thing that sucks the spit out? I hate it! Flossing? I have this weird fear of floss. Call it flossophobia. My parents used it to pull our teeth out, not to clean them. I see floss and run.

Dentists back in the 70s weren't exactly child friendly. I passed out cold right there in the office at 7 years old. Braces came at 13 years old, which were painful enough. Then there was the time when, at 14, I had to have 4 permenant teeth removed. Two of those teeth were impacted, and despite lots of freezing I could still feel the crunching and pressure as the dentist twisted it out. Maybe it was because the dentist had to put his knee on the chair for leverage. So let's just say that for me, dentists=pain.

Kevin, on the other hand, loves the dentist. I find that completely bizarre. Especially after the time when he was playing in his room and slipped. He landed on a wooden table in his room that held his train set. Mouth first. Ya, I'm with you. OUCH.

"Are you okay?" I called from downstairs when I heard the muffled cry. Silence. Anyone knows that silence is a bad thing with a four year old. I ran up the stairs to find Kevin sitting on his bed wide-eyed and a mouth full of blood. We rushed him to the dentist and found that while his teeth were intact, he had cut his gums very badly and required stitches. They sang to him, turned on cartoons, hid the needle with freezing behind hands and called it "sleeping juice". To my amazement, Kevin, the child who doesn't miss a thing, didn't even know he'd had stitches. I had to get him to look in a mirror after. They were that good.

Nowadays when Kevin sees the dentist he chats with the hygenist about all the gadgets in the room and how they work. He willingly lets them poke and prod his mouth, while I cringe in the corner like a baby and watch with facinated horror. This office seems to be particularly friendly, so I may just go myself eventually....but let's not be hasty.

I think I'll work on flossing regularly first.

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