“I don’t want to go…”
“But you have to… and it will be okay, don’t worry…”
“Meh, I just have a bad feeling about it. News won’t be good…”
“Yes it will, and if it isn’t they will just patch you up nicely.”
“I dunno…”
“Honey, why are you shaking? And you look… you look a bit pale…”
“I’m scared…”

I wasn’t always so afraid. I used to be fearless. When I was a child I loved going on that annual trip. Anything was better than school! I simply wouldn’t understand why my parents didn’t enjoy their few hours off from work. I’d be singing and laughing in the back seat of the car. After all, for me it was only two minutes of sitting with my mouth open before I was told I could go home again…

But today I’m terrified. Today I need to go to the dentist as an adult.

Like I said, my teeth used to be fine. It didn’t matter what I ate or whether I refrained from brushing them. Every year my dentist would just look for three seconds and then tell me all of them looked perfectly fine.

Until I grew up. And apparently that was a good reason for my teeth to change.

Was it the fact that I used a different brand of toothpaste? Was it the hormones? Was it my increased stress level? Didn’t I drink enough milk? Was it cooking my own meals? Was it the rivers of tea, seas of coffee and oceans of booze? Whatever the reason, suddenly decay started to show.

Two and a half years ago I had to pay my dues for the first time. There I was, like every year, cosy and comfortably in that chair, impatiently clocking my two minutes. I had work to do that day you know…

“Oh dear, I think we need to take some pictures…”
“Oh?”
“Ai-ai, that doesn’t look good, your upper right teeth contain some cavities that need to be filled…”
“Some cavities? You mean more than one? That’s impossible…!”

In a follow up appointment I underwent the full treatment: the anaesthetics and the numbness, the drilling and the filling, the screaming and the drooling. My teeth felt as new again, but I was hurt. They had been my little heroes, always standing strong in the front line. Now suddenly it seemed that they had let me down. And I didn’t even notice. I felt betrayed. I was scarred. Scarred turned into scared. The next year I missed my annual appointment. And the next. I never thought of the dentist again.

Unfortunately, this summer I was reminded of the dentist by a nasty toffee. Let’s just say it bit back. I thought my left jaw was imploding and exploding at the same time. I knew I had no other option.

And so today I find myself sitting in the waiting room. I am on my own. I am the first patient of the day. I think I’m too early, but I’m not really sure. There isn’t a clock in the room and I left my cell phone in the car. I feel butterflies, but of the bad variety. What the hell are they doing in there that makes it necessary to leave me waiting? There’s no other patient, they are just chatting… I wait for what feels like at least a quarter of an hour. My breathing goes faster. Gasps of breath get stuck in my throat. I’m more nervous than ever. Finally I’m summoned to come in…

“Ah, yes I see, two little cavities, just like two years ago, but then on the left, that’s all,” my dentist quickly concludes. “You can follow my assistant to make a follow up appointment…”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, that’s all. Goodbye Cecile.”
“Bye…”

The worse about tooth decay and dentists is their two-step fear formula. First you fear their verdict: decay or not? Next you have to wait for weeks in fear of your next appointment…

Column published by Cecile on Monday, September 15th, 2008.

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