Among an array of phobias,I have this fear of dentists. I do not fear the people themselves as much as I fear their machines,and the working of their hands. I think the reason for this fear was a negative experience from my childhood. I was a first grader when I had my first tooth pulled out at the hands of a cruel dentist, it remains an ugly memory of an ugly time.

After close examination, an expert decided I needed braces. I had the fangs of a vampire, like Claudia from Anne Rice’s “Interview with the vampire”. That sort of image, a child vampire who,when she smiles, instills fear instead of love in the hearts of those who behold her. This is not putting it too dramatically, my fangs were scary and distorted any pretty aspect to my face, no colorful dresses or girlish hair accessories could divert one’s attention from them.

So it followed that certain steps be taken to adjust the shocking state of my teeth,and the process was nothing less than painful. I used to give dentists a hard time, so they eventually pulled out two of my teeth in an operating room. They made me wear that light robe that patients wear,and they told me to count to ten as I gently inhaled that pleasant anesthetic that sent me off to dream land euphoria.
Some time afterwards, I had the upper and lower braces installed the same day and I remained sleepless and famine-struck for three long days.

Having removed the torturous instruments that deprived me of gum and seeds for a year, I resolved never to visit a dentist again. I licked the now smooth surface of my teeth and smiled proudly, I wanted to show everyone how I can smile and look nice as I do it. I decided to take care of my teeth in a manner that would make visiting a dentist a distant possibility.

I kept my word for seven years. Today at 10 am I have to have a dentist take a look at my teeth and I may sound silly but I think this will be a night that boldly recalls the three nights following the installation of the braces.( It is 16 minutes past midnight )

I do not like the sound of the machines, they are too “mechanical”. Maybe they can make them sound a little less so,and more on the friendly side. Then again, perhaps it is my mentally associating them with pain that makes them sound so horrifying.
I have tried but failed to like the positioning of one in the chair. It makes me feel completely helpless and I do not like to be helpless. It generates an image in my head of my surrendering to a stranger with a multitude of machines exploring an intimate part of my face. My mouth is a sacred shrine to me, I do not appreciate having it explored by strangers’ machines.

Will this visit prove to be my version of “The Appointment in Samara”? I am ever so scared. This is the story:

A certain merchant in Baghdad sent his servant to the market to buy some provisions. A little while later, the servant returned looking white in the face. In a trembling voice he said, “Just now in the market place I was jostled by a man in the crowd, and when I turned I saw it was Mr. Death. He looked at me and made a threatening gesture. Please lend me your horse, because I want to go to Samara where Mr. Death will not be able to find me.” The merchant agreed and lent the scared man his horse. The servant mounted the horse and rode away as fast as the animal could gallop. Later that day, the merchant went down to the market place and saw Mr. Death standing in the crowd. He approached him and said, “Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?” “That was not a threatening gesture,” said Mr. Death. “It was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, because I have an appointment with him tonight in Samara.”

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This entry was posted on Saturday, September 17th, 2005 at 12:16 am and is filed under Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.