A Fear of Dentists
by Agnes Summers
I have a fear of dentists that brings me into instant panic at the mention of the subject or the first sign of toothache. This fear goes back to the visits we’d pay to the Dental Hospital. As a poor family with a limited diet, lots of tooth decay and little money for a regular dentist we’d have to join the queues at the Dental Hospital for our no frills dentist visits. Normally a tough little girl, the appointments in the cold, dull Dental Hospital would me feel sick to my stomach.
Once I knew of the appointment date, I’d have many sleepless nights where the sound of the dentist drill would echo in my ears. I’d snuggle up in my blankets and stick my head under the pillow in an effort to get rid of that sound and the thoughts of looking up into the hairy nostrils of Dr. Butcher as he peered into my mouth. He made no attempt to reassure me that he would be gentle. He was a large unsmiling man with huge, cold hands. His face would come to me in my dreams as the appointment date came closer and closer. I’d lie in bed at night and screw up my eyes to block out the look of those curly white hairs that poked out of this old man’s nose.
The morning of the appointment I would be treated to a sleep in and even though I didn’t want to close my eyes in case Dr. Butcher’s unsmiling face appeared in my dreams, I loved snuggling up in my blankets while the other kids had to brave the cold morning and get ready for school. After the rush of the morning routine, Mum would bring me breakfast in bed that consisted of, a piping hot bowl of porridge and a cup of cocoa. It was warming enough to push the fear of the dentist visit to the back of my mind for the time being. Mum would prepare the little ones to spend the day with a neighbour and we’d wait for Dad to finish packing the fish he’d caught, ready to put them on the train to Perth. Mum, Dad, the two little ones and I would climb into the Landrover ready to head off on our day out. First stop would be to drop the little ones. Once in Albany, Dad would drop mum and I at the Dental Hospital while he went off to the railway station.
Mum and I would force our way through the heavy doors used to keep the weak inside. The strong smell of chloroform would burn the layers of my nasal passages and sting my eyes, causing tears to build up and run down my face.
Everything would seem to stop still. Nurses and patients would be like statues. My eyes would flash around the waiting room. Grey carpets mirrored my mood. The dull cream walls with paint peeling off gave me the sense that these people were careless. Would there be strips peeling off me when they had finished with me? Severe faces, no smiles reminded me of the severe treatment I would go through at the hands of the dentist and his nurse.
I clung to my Mum and drew warmth from her body. I’d bury my head in her dress and smell the scent of her to calm my panic and to block out the horrible smell of the Dental Hospital. My face would sink into her soft tummy and I’d cling to her for protection. Mum would me sit on my knee like a baby while we waited for the call of my name. The only reward for being in this cold frightening place was that I had my Mum to myself. I’d lie back against her ample bosom and block out the scene and the fear. All too soon I’d hear my name announced. It would shock me out of my silent, private world. The clatter of metal tools on metal trays, the shrill noise of the dentist drill and the whining of the other victims would all come rushing back. Mum would shake me gently and we’d make our way to the dentist’s room. Mum would stride out leading the way while I hung onto her hand with both my hands and hid behind her dress for as long as possible. She would pick me up and place me on his chair. The freezing cold feel of it would have me sitting rigid until the treatment was over. |
