The Dentist

My friend Carol called into work this morning and told me that her mother was in the hospital as of late last night. Any time anyone even says the word hospital, I think needles. As I was thinking about her mother in the hospital, I remembered how afraid of needles I was. Then, a couple of incidences popped into my head.

As a child I was, deathly, afraid of needles. My extensive fear of needles, or anything remotely pointy, was so bad that I got ridiculously scared when I had to get the old TB test that us kids of the 80's got at every physical. You know the test I'm talking about, a little piece of plastic with four minute prongs on the end that they prick your skin with…and if it swells (or turns red) bigger than the tip of your finger, you're in real trouble. Yeah, that one, I was even afraid of that. So, needless to say, I avoided any type of needle at all costs. Just the thought of a needle of any size being stuck into my skin would be enough to scare me stiff. I remember asking my mom the same question every time we went to the doctor (regardless the reason we were visiting the doctor), "will I have to get a shot?". To this day I can tell you of three specific events that may have led to my severe fear of needles. And, fortunately, there's only been a few times in my entire life that needles did actually hurt me.

The first time a needle ever hurt me was when I was three years old or so (I'm not certain, I don't really remember the event). I had been following my mom around the house and when she walked into the bedroom, I tripped on something and my head landed on the corner of the metal bed frame. The corner of the bed frame plunged into the top of my forehead! I had to be rushed to the emergency room to get stitches. I can only assume a needles was involved in this situation, so I am guessing this was the first time I was assaulted with a needle (other than as an infant). I don't remember much more from that day, but I really think it must have been traumatic.

The second time a needle hurt me, I was about 4 years old, or maybe 5 (again, not sure). I was running up the concrete stairs in front of our house and fell. My teeth ripped through my top lip as my mouth struck the edge of the third concrete step. Ouch! Again, I was rushed hospital for stitches. I'm certain I was screaming and I'm certain that didn't stop when the the E.R. Doc pulled out the needle and syringe. I'm not sure, but I think this is the time I was placed in a straight jacket so they could stitch me up. Yes, a white straight jacket, just like you would see at the local nut house! I couldn't do anything about it, but take the pain as he stitched my lip. Of course, I don't remember much, but it couldn't have been pleasant, ya know? Plus, I think maybe the straight jacket may have traumatized me as well. And, it didn't help that a few days later, I walked too close to the swing set and someone kicked me in the mouth and split my lip wide open again. Maybe, I was knocked unconscious, because I don't remember this incident or maybe it's buried in my conscience and will be revealed later by a very well-trained Psychiatrist.

Somewhere down the line, maybe about a year later, at the age of 5 or 6, I broke my arm. This time, my dad had to hold me still with all of his might, as they pushed a needle into my leg (I don't know why they gave me a shot in my leg for a broken arm, but they did - I swear they did, my mom doesn't remember this, but I certainly do). I must say, I did make it hard for my dad to hold me still. But, the shot did help since I didn't feel a thing as the Doctor repositioned my bones and placed my arm in a cast. This incident wasn't quite as traumatizing as the others, but still memorable.

I realize that I sidetracked for a moment there, but I felt it necessary to aptly describe the trauma I had experienced with needles in order for you to understand why I may have acted so erractically at the Dentist's office in the following story.

Around the second or third time I was assaulted with a needle, I had to go to The Dentist (we'll just call the evil Dr. Linehan, "The Dentist") for a checkup. The usual happened, we got our teeth cleaned, we had that fluoride stuff and everything was fine…UNTIL The Dentist told us that I had a cavity. So, I assume we made an appointment to come back and have the cavity filled. I didn't know what this meant. Heck, I was only 4 or 5, I didn't remember ever having a cavity! We arrived at The Dentist's office to have my cavity filled and I began to stare at the huge fish tank in the waiting room. I loved that fish tank, the fish were so beautiful and lucky to not have teeth. When the dental assistant called my name, I jumped up and followed her to my special little room. I sat in the chair as The Dentist got ready. He put that lovely bib over my clothes and took a quick look at my teeth…then it happened…he pulled out a needle and syringe! I panicked, I didn't know what he was going to do with that thing, all I could think was that he was going to stick that needle in my gums and that would hurt! In absolute horror, I started to flail around like a fish out of water, my arms were flapping, my legs were kicking and my mouth screamed with utter fear. The Dentist, for some strange reason, ran out of the office. It took a couple of seconds for it to register that the evil man with the needle was gone. As I began to calm, the nurse grabbed both of my shoulders with her hands and laid me back down on the chair and said the most ignorant thing to me…"See what you did to Dr. Linehan?" I didn't understand, what had I done to him? He was the one with a needle and he was the one that was going to stick that needle in my mouth! But, then it became clear, in my attempt to free myself from the torture chair, I had stuck The Dentist in the hand with the needle and syringe full of Novocain!!! Even though the nurse treated me as some horrible, deviant, like I had just murdered a cat or something – I was proud. I kept that man from sticking me with a needle at that moment. After a little while, I had my cavity filled. But, I have been terrified of the dentist ever since.

I don't think my brother and I visited that dentist very much after that.


And...for those of you wondering...the last time I was ever hurt by a needle was at the age of 10. I had a blister under my cuticle on my left forefinger. It was a huge blister full of puss (I know, grody), we couldn't figure out what it was. But, it hurt so bad to touch it and I kept banging it on my desk at school. I was in 5th grade at the time. Finally, my dad took me to Dr. Schneidman, my Pediatrician. She took a look at my finger and said she knew what needed to be done. I had an infection of some kind and she had to rid my finger of that infection. Dr. Schneidman left the room and in came a nurse with, you guessed it, a NEEDLE! I tried to be adult about it, I tried to act brave…I figured they would just give me a shot to numb my finger or something, I could handle that…boy was I wrong. The nurse, as casually as can be, stuck the needle directly into the middle of this horrendous blister! It hurt so bad that I almost passed out. But, the Doctor explained that they just needed to get the infection out of my finger and that was the only way. Once they finished emptying the blister, the nurse came in with some crackers and 7-Up. That was that. However, I would say I was, officially, terrified of needles by the time I was 4.