The only thing to fear is my stupid mental hangups
I've blogged before, I think, about my agoraphobia, which has abated somewhat in the last year, thanks to some nifty tricks I learned about right here on the internets. Breathing, eye contact, visualization, all wonderful things. I may have mentioned my debilitating fear of the dentist, as well. As phobias go, it's pretty run of the mill, but it's loomed in my life for as far back as I can remember. None of my coping techniques seem to work once I walk in that door and smell the rubber/minty/antiseptic mix of ordors.
I'm pretty sure it was the school dentist, who apparently didn't believe that children a) felt pain and b) ever told the truth, is the source of my phobia. I've come a long way in overcoming it, with the help of yogic breathing and a truly wonderful dentist (his cards say "We cater to cowards." That would be me), but the thought of sitting in that chair whilst strange, arcane instruments whizz and scream in my mouth and my jaw slowly and painfully locks open still makes me want to go hide somewhere.
Alas, you can't hide from your teeth, and a childhood of dental defiance (that mean dentist lady wants me to brush! The hell with her! Yes, this makes absolutely no sense. Tell that to an 8 year old) and genetically inherited thin enamel (thanks Dad) make it a necessity for me to visit the nice man with the drill twice a year. I should go more, but my nerves can't take it. Neither can my wallet, for that matter. I've become a dedicated brusher, flosser, and rinser, and this has so far stood me in good stead, with only 3 cavities in the last 5 years. Nonetheless, there is this old cavity, a vast expanse in a back right molar, stopped up with an aging filling, extending down into the soft, spongy root. This is where the trouble is.
I'm facing down the barrel of a nice root canal (probable) and a crown (definate) in the next two years or so. My intellect tells me that I should get it over with as soon as possible, and then it will be done and I can stop dreading it. My gut tells me to run run omg RUN fucking RUN DANGER. Good ol' fight-or-flight, that uneeded, outgrown survival instinct. Good ol' adrenaline, which has made so many of my dentist visits both traumatic and exhausting.
I can feel a little lip in the filling these days, a little snag that catches at my tongue when I explore back there. It fills me with dread. I know it's catching food, too, and bacteria, and when my dentist sees it, he's going to give me that look, the one that says, you are not going to like hearing what I'm about to say, and then he's going to say that it's time. Time for the crown. Time (very probably) for the root canal. Time, once again, to face up to what frightens me.
Any suggestions?
I'm pretty sure it was the school dentist, who apparently didn't believe that children a) felt pain and b) ever told the truth, is the source of my phobia. I've come a long way in overcoming it, with the help of yogic breathing and a truly wonderful dentist (his cards say "We cater to cowards." That would be me), but the thought of sitting in that chair whilst strange, arcane instruments whizz and scream in my mouth and my jaw slowly and painfully locks open still makes me want to go hide somewhere.
Alas, you can't hide from your teeth, and a childhood of dental defiance (that mean dentist lady wants me to brush! The hell with her! Yes, this makes absolutely no sense. Tell that to an 8 year old) and genetically inherited thin enamel (thanks Dad) make it a necessity for me to visit the nice man with the drill twice a year. I should go more, but my nerves can't take it. Neither can my wallet, for that matter. I've become a dedicated brusher, flosser, and rinser, and this has so far stood me in good stead, with only 3 cavities in the last 5 years. Nonetheless, there is this old cavity, a vast expanse in a back right molar, stopped up with an aging filling, extending down into the soft, spongy root. This is where the trouble is.
I'm facing down the barrel of a nice root canal (probable) and a crown (definate) in the next two years or so. My intellect tells me that I should get it over with as soon as possible, and then it will be done and I can stop dreading it. My gut tells me to run run omg RUN fucking RUN DANGER. Good ol' fight-or-flight, that uneeded, outgrown survival instinct. Good ol' adrenaline, which has made so many of my dentist visits both traumatic and exhausting.
I can feel a little lip in the filling these days, a little snag that catches at my tongue when I explore back there. It fills me with dread. I know it's catching food, too, and bacteria, and when my dentist sees it, he's going to give me that look, the one that says, you are not going to like hearing what I'm about to say, and then he's going to say that it's time. Time for the crown. Time (very probably) for the root canal. Time, once again, to face up to what frightens me.
Any suggestions?
posted by Karla Andrich at
1:09 PM
2 Comments:
Dental concerns are odd things. I will say, though, that Matt had some wisdom teeth extracted Friday, and he's doing well now (the pain is annoying, not, well, painful), and, last year, I was happily crunching some dried jackfruit when I felt an old filling chip. I took extra care of it until I could get to a dentist (my first dental visit this century, because I am a cheapskate), who said, meh, there's no softening around the chipped filling, but, buy an electric toothbrush posthaste to fight the buildup rampant along the gumline, which I did, and, um...yeah. All is not doom in terms of chipped fillings.
(I'm here because I read a Lois McMaster Bujold book and remembered your blog)
By
Anonymous, at 3:17 PM
Hey Andrea!
I'm always pleased to be associated with Ms. Bujold. ;)
I'm in the middle of a heavy duty sewing project right now (see recent posts) and while it's sort of kicking my ass, it's also reminding me why I got into sewing in the first place. It's fun!
By
Karla Andrich, at 9:41 AM
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