Where do you feel most vulnerable?
I think I have to say for me, it’s when I’m in the chair. Where
dental procedures are performed. Where my personal space is invaded. Where pain
is involved. Where my airways seem to be impeded. That chair. Compared to other
circumstances I’ve faced, say, being in stirrups, (and I’ve given birth three
times and each time was by a different method so I can honestly speak to a
variety of vulnerable positions), dental procedures evoke a very extreme level
of anxiety. The level that makes dentists wish they’d earthquake-proofed their
office, such are the tremors that emanate from my body and encompass the chair
I’m occupying. I’m not exaggerating.
A couple weeks ago a convergence of increasing pain in my
mouth and available funds sent me to the chair. Since we moved last year, I had
to find a new dentist. Add another level to the anxiety meter. So at the first
appointment, which was for exam and x-rays only, I put it right there on the
forms I filled out. About being extremely anxious in the chair and how I would
be taking an anti-anxiety medication to get through whatever procedures needed
to be done.
I felt hopeful with how the young lady at the counter
greeted me and helped me with insurance paper work and forms. And her interest
in me as a person came through very clearly.
When my new dentist entered the room, I so appreciated that
he kept his distance as we first talked, and that he listened. He asked me from
where I thought the anxiety stemmed. He didn’t interrupt as I listed a myriad
of circumstances involving dental horrors in my childhood. Topping the list was
my first visit at age twelve, a tooth that my parents refused a root canal on, insisting that I would lose all my teeth by the time I was twenty-one anyway so
just go ahead and pull it, leaving me there alone because they had things to
do, me sobbing with terror, the dentist pulling the tooth and dropping it down
my throat, which I gagged and choked on but eventually coughed out, the dentist
yelling at me and telling me it was my fault that he dropped it. Yeah, it was
pretty traumatic. Other things on the list were fillings done without
anesthesia, and being told what a baby I was for complaining about the pain
because there are so many other things way more painful.
I’ve had a number of root canals, crowns, tooth extractions
and deep cleanings since then that didn’t qualify for horror movie ratings but
the initial incidents are ingrained and affect every single new encounter.
My new dentist listened to it all. And then he affirmed me.
He said what I’d experienced was horrible and it shouldn’t have been done that
way. The next thing he said was so unexpected I still almost can’t quite
believe I heard my ears right. Basically he said, “There’s nothing I can do to
go back and change what happened. But what I can do right now is apologize for
the way those dentists practiced and for what they did to you. I’m saying I’m
sorry. Will you forgive me?”
Really?!? Yes, really. I’m still processing what that means.
And I am working through that forgiveness.
Yesterday was my appointment for the root canal. I took my
little Lorazepam to take the edge off my anxiety. My sister became my TLC giver
and chauffeur. She even offered to hang out in the tiny waiting room. I
couldn’t do that to her. Just knowing she was close by at The Woods Coffee Shop
was enough for me.
I still felt vulnerable in the chair. I still felt that my
personal space was invaded. And hey, when the dentist said, “You’ll feel a
little pinch now” as the needle was inserted into my locally anesthetized gum,
I felt it. A few tears leaked out. And my body felt jerky (thankfully no
tremors this time). But I also felt respected and heard. I felt the kindness,
the care, the concern for my welfare, and the peace and presence of Jesus that
friends and family were praying for.
I like what a favorite author of mine Steve Arterburn says
in his book, Toxic Faith, “The true
presence of God in my life does not provide escape from reality and personal
responsibility. His presence should provide a firmer grip on reality and a hope
that reality can be faced with all its pain and sorrow.”
The dentist also said he’d like to get to a place where I
feel I can trust him. I’d like that too. It will take time. But what a relief
it would be to approach the chair without a tremble, as there are more
procedures ahead.
