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Take a Bite Out of Fear

A few days from now, our family will undergo a major rite of passage when Emma has her very first dentist appointment. She is three years old, which, according to some sources, makes her overdue. Many people feel that children should have their first dental appointments by age two, while the National Association of Medical Bill Collectors advocates commencement of pre-orthodontic screening no later than the sixth month of fetal development.

Although Emma is excited and curious about her first appointment, there is, understandably, a trace of anxiety. There are horror stories from other kids, as well as numerous references in children's literature to the importance of bravery in the dentist's chair.

I've been doing my best to help her maintain a positive attitude toward the whole experience. No point in burdening her in advance with unnecessary references to root canal, gum scraping, and that unmistakable "burning bone" smell as the drill bears downð

You see, I've gone too far already. My lapse into negative imagery exposes the truth: I am dental phobic. If I had my druthers, I'd never pick up the phone to make an appointment without heavy sedation. A few years back, when I needed a root canal, I had to search for a dentist who would agree to use tranquilizers, novocaine, and nitrous oxide. They call it laughing gas, but when they use it properly, it doesn't make me laugh because I'm too high to remember how. That's the way I like my dental work done. The more distance between my awareness and the reality of what is happening to my teeth, the better.

To what do I owe this affliction? I never had a major childhood dental injury, I never had braces; I had only a few cavities. What went wrong?

I blame it all on our childhood dentist, Dr. Laine. Loud Hawaiian shirts, fat hairy fingers, volatile personality. While he poked around in my mouth, he'd be chatting up the hygienist about his ski vacation to Taos, and he did not appreciate being interrupted, even if something hurt. It also didn't help that I had been terrified by an older cousin's graphic descriptions of needles the size of harpoons.

In light of my own issues, I have been making a concerted effort to keep things light for Emma's sake. I have made every effort to avoid using words like "pain," "blood," "needle," "exposed nerve," or "agony." Instead, I've tried to focus on the positive aspects of the experience, such as the potential for getting a sticker or some other prize at the end of the visit.

Even though I have never met Emma's new dentist, he comes with glowing recommendations. I have already taken the leap and told Emma that he is a really great guy. I've used the desire to impress him as a motivator for conscientious tooth brushing. I can only hope that he turns out to be as good as they say, and that he has a good selection of prizes.

And he better not wear a Hawaiian shirt.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.