Dentist? No, Don't Make Me Go There!

There was a time, in the dim and distant past, when I had teeths...a proper set of teeths that were all mine.

And I looked after them...brushed and flossed and rinsed...thought that'd be enough to keep me going until in my dotage...until they came ever slightly loose.

Just the front ones...they wobbled a bit and biting into an apple was no longer an option...eating ice-cream was totally out of the question, it was pure agony taking a mouthful of a double Mr Whippy...

I'd spent most of my childhood going to the dentist...having impressions done for braces 'cos my top teeths stuck out a bit...thumb sucking was blamed for that. He was an odd young man called Mr Rolfe who wore rimless glasses and looked like a member of Hitler Youth...his nurse wore a white coat over the top of her day clothes...just as well 'cos her skirts were about six inches long, as were her nails, which she had sharpened to points and painted with pale pink varnish...he was scary but the nurse terrified me...

The carefully made braces didn't do much good because I used to take them out the minute I left home to catch the school 'bus...they'd sit in my pocket gathering dust and gunge until I put them back in as I went through the garden gate...

Reaching adulthood relatively unscathed and still with sticking out top teeth, I developed a serious dental phobia. I'd make appointments and not keep them...arrive in time for an appointment then sidle out of the waiting room before it was my turn...

It reached the stage when the wobbly teeth could no longer be left unattended but still I put off the evil hour...when a back tooth simply fell out onto my plate while I was having supper the children made gagging noises, as well they might.

So I made an appointment with Gary.

And I kept it...

Gary said it'd take much work to get my gnashers into any kind of order...he had a creepy smile when he said it as though he was revelling in my obvious discomfort...I heard myself saying that I wanted them all out...he laughed and told me not to be silly.

So I hunted through the Yellow Pages and found a chap in Norwich who used anaesthesia to knock his patients out...made an appointment and went for an assessment. He was such a sweetheart...explained it all to me and said he was well used to patients suffering from dental phobias and I was not to worry because I'd not know anything about it...

And it was grand...sat in the scary chair with the palms of my hands soaking wet...a nice chap gave me an injection and I came round to find myself sans teeth and not having known anything about it at all...no crunching noises as they were yanked from gums...no-one telling me to 'rinse now' no sounds of high pitched drills...just this kindly man who told me to go and sit in the waiting room and someone would bring me a cup of tea...which they did.

Went back the following day for my new shiny teeth...now oddly enough I still have a phobia about dental treatment...can't even bring myself to go for new teeth...only have to hear the sound of the drill and I'm away down the street like a jack-rabbit...