He was a big and hairy main. Bearlike through the eyes of a small child. And although he projected himself as a friend to children, in reality that was far form the truth. He was a dentist.
The waiting room of his office was filled with Highlights magazines and LEGO’s. I enjoyed reading the magazines and the toys but when his wife, the nurse called me back to the examination room, fear and panic set in.
Sitting in the chair with my bib around my neck all I could see were the tools. Jackhammers and drills, picks and probes, all sharp and potentially painful. Then there was the novocaine syringe. At least a foot long. I knew it would be stuck in my jaw at least ten times.
I do not know if I was a bad patient or he was a sadistic dentist, but I always needed all of this treatment. Every time I walked in the door. I had more cavities than teeth!
When he began working in my mouth all I could pay any attention to was the hair on his fingers. Six fingers on each hand and every one the size of a hot dog. All of which was covered in hair and jammed in my mouth for hours.
As an adult I go to the dentist twice a year. My teeth get cleaned. And that’s all they need. A nice dental hygienist does a quick clean and polish. The dentist comes in and looks in my mouth, asks about the family and says he’ll see me next time.
I still don’t like going to the dentist. Memories of the bear cave are burned into my mind. But I go and my teeth are happy.
That’s part of my story. What’s yours?