At the Dentist
Going to the dentist must be one of the most daunting- nay terrifying- experiences ever. But when the pain comes, and persists, it takes you down the rabbit hole right into the spider's den- more explicitly- the dentist's chair.
The sheer immaculate, shining surfaces are unnerving, as is the gentle whirring of the clogs of the monstrous contraption that is the dentist's chair. The smell of disinfectant just adds to ambiance of dread and dismay. But most horrifying of all are the tools of torture that are laid out with meticulous precision, teasing, taunting and testing the resolve of the bravest souls.
As the doctor strolls in without a worry in the world, clad in pristine white and looking like the ghost of all my hopes and desires, I shrink a little bit more into the plastic covered chair, as if somehow it would grant me respite against the looming and inevitable pain.
Then something strange happens: the sounds emanating from her mouth are gentle and soothing like a cool salve. I dare to twist awkwardly up a little, so grateful for this bit of warmth in the chill of the room. She is reassuring, and in what seems to be a few short seconds, the deed is done. A nip here and nudge there and it's over. There is some talk about ice-cream and medicines.
As I head out, I don't really comprehend why I felt like the way I had only just ten minutes ago. Nonetheless, I am thankful to show my back to the hall of terrors and quickly make my way out to freedom. I decide I need not dwell on the fact I have to be back in a week. Better to cross that bridge when I come to it.
But there is something else. The chair has brought back memories of my son. My son Sufyan. I remember taking him to the dentist one day. And I don't remember what the situation was, but he had a tooth extracted too. He was so brave. Truly. I was so proud of him, my beautiful, bold, brilliant, wonderful, caring, loving son. He must be quite the strapping young man now. A hero I am sure.
It's funny how stuff can get triggered in the most unknowing of places. It was a memory long forgotten, but turns out not long forgotten.
The sheer immaculate, shining surfaces are unnerving, as is the gentle whirring of the clogs of the monstrous contraption that is the dentist's chair. The smell of disinfectant just adds to ambiance of dread and dismay. But most horrifying of all are the tools of torture that are laid out with meticulous precision, teasing, taunting and testing the resolve of the bravest souls.
As the doctor strolls in without a worry in the world, clad in pristine white and looking like the ghost of all my hopes and desires, I shrink a little bit more into the plastic covered chair, as if somehow it would grant me respite against the looming and inevitable pain.
Then something strange happens: the sounds emanating from her mouth are gentle and soothing like a cool salve. I dare to twist awkwardly up a little, so grateful for this bit of warmth in the chill of the room. She is reassuring, and in what seems to be a few short seconds, the deed is done. A nip here and nudge there and it's over. There is some talk about ice-cream and medicines.
As I head out, I don't really comprehend why I felt like the way I had only just ten minutes ago. Nonetheless, I am thankful to show my back to the hall of terrors and quickly make my way out to freedom. I decide I need not dwell on the fact I have to be back in a week. Better to cross that bridge when I come to it.
But there is something else. The chair has brought back memories of my son. My son Sufyan. I remember taking him to the dentist one day. And I don't remember what the situation was, but he had a tooth extracted too. He was so brave. Truly. I was so proud of him, my beautiful, bold, brilliant, wonderful, caring, loving son. He must be quite the strapping young man now. A hero I am sure.
It's funny how stuff can get triggered in the most unknowing of places. It was a memory long forgotten, but turns out not long forgotten.
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