My First Dentist

9/26/23

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dentist_02.txt

9/24/23

My First Dentist

by:
Philip Rice

I was born in California in 1953. I went to kindergarten in Columbus, Ohio, half a day, 5 days a week. At age 5, I walked to school, by myself, everyday. It was 5 or 6 blocks, and it took me about 10 minutes. In bad weather, I wore a coat.

At the end of that school year, during the summer break, our family moved to New Jersey. From first grade all the way thru high school, I stayed in the same town, and in the same school system. I lived 2 blocks from my grammar school, and 4 blocks from "downtown". I always walked to school in New Jersey. I graduated high school having never rode a school bus to school.

Our family dentist office was in downtown Chatham, NJ. My dentist appointments were organized by my Mom. I don't remember when they started. Maybe first or second grade. The appointments were always scheduled on a school day, about 20 minutes after school ended. Mom told me what to do. I just just followed instructions. After school, instead of walk 2 blocks home, I walked 2 blocks in a different direction to the dentist office. It was a no brainer.

My first few visits to the dentist were uneventful. But importantly, I knew the routine.

Then one night at about age 7, as I was about to go to bed, I just lightly touched my teeth together. I got zapped with a dose of unexpected pain.

I had a tooth ache.

When I told my parents about it, they said I would have to visit the dentist the next day.

The Dentist was able to diagnose the problem in about 2 minutes. He said the problem was caused by a permanent tooth trying to come in, and a baby tooth refusing to get out of the way.

He said the remedy is simple enough. He would pull out the baby tooth. The Dentist told me to come back tomorrow.

Tomorrow is a problem for an 7 year old boy. It was a problem for me anyway.

That Dentist should have told me to sit down in his chair and pulled that tooth. Right now. Tomorrow meant that I had to go home and sleep on it.

When I came back the next day, I was frightened. The Dentist gave me a shot of novocaine. It was the first time I had ever had any kind of shot at the dentist office.

I promptly fainted.

Of course, I don't know what was going on while I was out. But with the benefit of hindsight, my dentist must have freaked out.

When I woke up, I don't remember what he said, exactly. But he was able to convey that he was not going to pull out my tooth. He was somehow afraid that if he tried to pull out that tooth, I was going to puke. And choke. And not be able to breathe. And, Oh My God, I was going die.

I didn't know it at the time, but this little bit of (one sided) conversation with my Dentist would have consequences. I never got an explanation that made any kind of rational sense to me. I was never afraid that I would choke to death in a doctors office. The thing that I understood from the Dentist was that he was afraid.

I was 7 years old, groggy, and confused. I never said a word. I went home. Presumably there was a phone call, and my Mom spoke with the dentist office.

My memory of the extraction is a little bit fuzzy. As best I can:

My Mom took me to a different dentist the next day. It was an "Oral Surgeon". We were referred/recommended by our dentist. Our dentist must have called ahead and told them to not give me novocaine.

With friends like that, who needs enemies?

By the time I got there, it was three days and three nights with a tooth ache. I was not sleeping well. I was a mess. No matter how bad this extraction turned out to be, I just wanted to get it over with.

The anesthesia they gave me was some kind of gas. Probably nitrous oxide. I think it did more harm than good, because it made me paranoid.

Try to get a picture of this in your mind:

This was 1960. They put me in a chair like an old fashioned barber shop chair. I was 7 years old, so the chair was too big for me. I was not flat on my back, looking straight up at the ceiling, like in a modern dentist chair. I was tilted back a little bit, but only a little bit. This position did not seem unusual because I had nothing to compare it to.

The Oral Surgeon stood next to the chair, and asked me to move my arm off of the arm rest. He then planted one of his feet flat on the arm rest. I was not prepared for this. He did it in such a way that I could tell he had done it before, and that he meant business.

His knee was now up around his chest. His other foot was flat on the floor.

And I thought to myself, "Oh Shit!"

In his hands, he carried a tool similar to a big pair of pliers. He used that tool to clamp onto my tooth. He grabbed onto the tool with both hands. His nose was about 12 inches away from mine. His eyes were open wide, and he had a serious look on his face.

I was pretty much hypnotized by his shoe on the arm rest of my chair.

At this point, the doctor didn't say a word. I was completely unprepared for the extreme nature of what happened next.

The Doctor, using both hands on the pliers, slowly turned my head, as far as it would go, to one side. And then, in one, sudden, violent motion:

He jerked my head, all the way in the other direction.

And then, before I had a chance to process what had just happened, it happened again. I remember thinking he was going to break my neck. Seriously.

The doctor just kept going. After about 8 or 10 violent jerks, which must have taken about 90 seconds, the tooth was out, and it was over. There was a lot of bleeding, but the worst of it was behind me.

It was brutal.

Summary of Cavities, Age 7 thru 18:

My Mom sent me to the dentist every six months. At the first trip, my teeth would get cleaned and checked. There were no x-rays. A young woman would scrape my teeth with a sharp metal instrument. This was unpleasant, but not terrible. When she was finished, the dentist checked me over. He told me how many cavities he had found. They would then make a second appointment(s) for the cavities.

Growing up, I ate a lot of candy and drank a lot of soda. I was not good about brushing my teeth. I never flossed. By the time I graduated high school at age 18, I had a mouth full of silver fillings. And the Dentist drilled every one of the cavities without novocaine. It was very painful. I hated it.

As an adult, I now realize that all of that pain was completely unnecessary. Writing this story has dredged up some unpleasant memories. I try not to over react, but it's hard for me not to be angry.

My theory on Pain:
Pain Should Always Be Optional.

My early experience with my first Dentist shaped my attitude about pain. And it certainly affects the way I now talk to my Doctor(s) about pain.

I need to do what is right for me. I've learned (the hard way) that it's up to me to speak up.

Philip G Rice
11268 E Linvale Dr
Aurora, CO 80014

(970) 235-0470
phil.rice@mkgappraisal.com

-- End of Letter --

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