THE DENTIST CHAIR

I don’t know about you, but I have an innate fear of the Dentist – no matter how friendly and nice he or she is.

If you could see the state of my teeth (they're held together by fillings), you would wonder why I feel terrified at  the mere thought of visiting the dentist. With the extraordinary amount of time that I have spent in the dentist’s chair, you would think that I would be used to it by now... I most certainly am not.

I have endured numerous root canal therapies (four on the one tooth) and I have veneers on six of my front teeth, I also have one odd looking crown which I fondly call “craggle tooth”.

Grim childhood memories of the Dental Hospital plague me. For those of you who are unaware, this is where dentists are trained, it's a teaching dental hospital. They practice on patients like me.

Memories re-emerge every time I find myself in the dentist’s chair, of my mother dragging me from Central Railway Station by my leash or child’s harness (as I think they called it in those days), to the dental hospital’s revolving doors. I always wished that those ominous looking doors at the entrance to the Dental Hospital, would swallow me up, keep me well hidden and spit me out at closing time.  

I have very good reason for this behaviour. The dental hospital, at the time, (back in the 50’s early 60’s), was designed in a way that all the patients shared one huge room. All the dentist’s chairs were lined up in numerous rows and the grating sounds of the dreaded drill were only surpassed by the pathetic sounds of kids sobbing.

My reputation at the Dental Hospital was…well… poor. I accidentally kicked a dentist on one or two occasions, therefore I was branded a 'BRAT' and on my arrival to  each appointment, I was immediately sentenced to the isolation room.  The isolation room was aptly named, “the bad room”.  As you could imagine, I was not shown much mercy or compassion. On  more than one occassion, I was tethered to the chair as the Supervisor thought I may accidently kick again. My childhood memory of the dentist’s chair is... scary!

In my growing years, my father always insisted that my sister and I should preserve our teeth at all costs. He believed that keeping your own teeth for life should be a priority.

That could possibly be the reason that I have endured so much dental work over the years. Even now, I am a staunch advocate in keeping my own teeth for as long as possible.

That leads  to my next story – Time To Update My Smile. Click here to read next chapter