the dentist

The mere mention of dentist used to send me into a state of fear and panic. There were two varieties – school dentists and national health dentists. Occasionally, the schools had a visit by a dentist and all the kids had to line up and have a quick inspection. He had a drinking glass full of some sort of pink disinfectant and a wooden spatula that he dipped in after each child had been inspected. He held your tongue down with it while having a cursory glance around your teeth. Some kids would have a revisit to him if they needed treatment, others would go to their own N.H. dentist. I have no idea why anyone would go to the school dentists, neither cost their parents money and they had a horrendous reputation verging on sadism.

We had the dubious option of going to our own dentist. Mum knew we would be scared and so usually sprung it on us just before the appointment. Sometimes she took us into town on the pretext of buying something. I learned to spot the signs after a few visits. The dental surgery was situated in a big rambling Victorian house at the end of the main street. There were no more shops there so as soon as we passed the last one, the game was up. No other reason to be venturing further.

The waiting room would originally have been the front room or ‘parlour’ of this grand house. It seemed huge and there was little in the way of furniture. Just a large table and several old chairs dotted around the edges of the highly polished wooden floor. Copies of very old books, comics and magazines were scattered around for our leisurely entertainment whilst we waited nervously for ‘our turn’. I was too petrified to even enjoy the japes of the Bash Street Kids and Minnie the Minx in the old Beano annuals. A nervous silence hung over the room.

Eventually a middle-aged, white-coated man with wire-rimmed spectacles appeared at the door. He reminded me of the Nazi officers I’d seen in my war comics. He would call my name and lead me to his 'torture' room. In retrospect, he was a very nice man but the sinister looking equipment suggested otherwise. The leather chair stood in the middle of the room. The drill consisted of various canti-levered metal arms, with pulleys and pieces of string driving it. There was small plate that held a glass of the same pink liquid seen at school but it had a tiny blue flame underneath to keep it warm. It was offered you to rinse with after he had mangled your mouth. Over by the window was a large chrome-plated box. His assistant would open it now and then, releasing clouds of steam from which unspeakable implements were removed and handed to the dentist. The scariest piece of equipment was a trolley holding gas cylinders and a large rubber gas mask. That clinched it – he was a Nazi officer, he was going to torture me and I would be lucky to get out alive.

I had to climb into the big nasty chair, which he pumped into the air with his foot. After poking and tugging at my teeth with pointed spikes he would inevitably declare that I needed some fillings. The pulleys and pieces of string trundled around whilst he drilled my teeth. I remember the coarse vibrations of it and the sharp pain as he hit the nerve. Sorry if this is painful reading. After what seemed like hours, he was ready to fill the hole. The assistant mixed up the amalgam on a battered glass dish with a hollow in the middle. The dentist packed my mouth with numerous wads of cotton wool and squeezed the fillings in, which made a strange squeaking noise. When he was done, we were released again to great relief. Mum might buy us a few sweets as a reward for our bravery and to ensure the dentist had a repeat business!

Sometimes, things were more desperate . Extractions were needed. This was where the gas mask came in. I remember the strong smell of rubber as it was clamped over my face. Then the sickly smell of the gas followed by a sensation of floating and …..

The next thing I was aware of was the dentist’s voice, coaxing me back to consciousness, followed by the taste of blood. I remember tentatively probing the place where the tooth had been with my tongue. A soggy, metallic-tasting hole greeted it. Mum provided a clean, folded handkerchief to hold over my mouth as we walked back along the street to freedom. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I found out she was as scared of the dentist as me. She once gave me one of the best pieces of advice and comfort I have ever had. Before going in for some nasty treatment she said,

‘Remember, nothing lasts forever. It will soon be over.’