A Dream of Fear

Nothing sends me into a spiral of denial faster or more completely than a twinge-y tooth so predictably I tolerated the pain for just over two weeks before it became impossible. Finally, the night came when the pain woke me just after 2:30 in the morning and no amount of pain medication would calm it. I realized, with a suicidal sense of desperation, that I had no choice - I could look down and see my swollen cheek, feel its misshapen bulge of infection and knew that I would have to see the dentist.

When I was a little girl, I dreaded disappointing my daddy. The look in his eyes was far worse than any physical punishment or harsh words could ever bring about and as I reached for the telephone to make the appointment, I understood that I couldn't bear to see that same look in the eyes of my dentist, not again. He has done nothing but care for me and treat me for years with kindness and understanding and love and I have broken promise after promise after promise to do better. I couldn't take this this latest abscess to him, couldn't face those kind and worried eyes one more time. Reluctantly, I called a new dentist - on a Wednesday before a holiday weekend, no less, with little hope in my heart and already trying to figure out how I would make it through until the next week. To my surprise, he agreed to see me the following morning - terror and relief immediately began a raging and bloody battle in my mind, each competing for my attention, demanding they be heard and take center stage. I was too torn to be rational, in too much pain to resist or change my mind and so afraid that I was trembling at just the prospect of the visit. I slunk home to a handful of pain pills and a healthy dose of antibiotics then crawled into bed to sleep and cry and pray for forgiveness, strength and other miracles.

I slept badly, seeming to hear the ticking of a clock with every breath, counting down the seconds til the next morning. I dreamed of fear itself, incapacitating and terrible, dressed in white and holding me hostage, a syringe in one hand and a scythe in the other. One thought kept circling around me, the absolute certainty that I couldn't do this, would rather die than face it. Then the pain would flare, a vicious reminder that abscessed teeth don't heal on their own, that I was trapped and out of options. And finally, the inevitable - I had done this to myself and was paying the price. When morning came, I showered and dressed, gulped down more antibiotics and pain pills and brushed my teeth properly. Feeling more than a little schizophrenic and phobic, having trouble breathing already, I left for what I was sure would be the queen mother of all nightmares, still not convinced that I would actually be able to see it through but not able to locate an alternative exit. Concentrate on tomorrow, I kept telling myself,

Get past this. No one dies from a dentist visit. No one dies from fear.

In the waiting room, on the verge of an all out panic attack, I gripped the arms of the chair until my fingers went numb and when the nurse called my name I had trouble letting go. I forced myself to follow her to a treatment room, pushed back the almost overwhelming urge to scream. I thought I recognized the sound of a drill but it was hard to tell because of the roaring in my ears, the sound of my own heartbeat in in double time was deafening.

Fear is part and parcel of living, an intuitive and natural defense mechanism that alerts us to danger, makes us more aware of threats, keeps us careful and paying attention. Taken to the extreme, it becomes a phobia and a risk in itself but reality never ever lives up to fear's expectations. The xray confirmed that there was too much infection and inflammation to do an extraction this day - as if that wasn't obvious by the state of my face - and the procedure has been scheduled for next week. Having met the staff and the dentist, having talked with them and shared the fear, the worst is over. Fear will try again, of this I have no doubt, but it will lose - defeated by trust, kindness, and a gentle touch.