I used to have a storyline that I'd worked out, about how it would all go down when I finally had to go to the dentist:
Something would happen that would make it impossible to put it off any longer. I used to imagine the various things that could happen: The worst ones involved biting down, sneezing, or coughing in a very public place, and shattering a tooth. I'd have to be rushed off to some emergency dentist immediately, probably screaming or bleeding or both.
The best ones involved being involved in some kind of car crash that resulted in lots of broken teeth and major reconstructive surgery.
I'd like to point out at this point just how irrational phobias are. I don't have a death wish, but my fear of owning up to years of dental neglect was so great, that I actually had hoped for an accident severe enough to destroy the evidence. I imagined telling people, "I had to have these false teeth made, on account of that bad accident." It seemed like a better story than the truth, which was just that I hadn't brushed them.
Somewhere in the middle, between the embarrassing public-tooth-shattering and the sympathy-inducing car crash, was some more banal reason: a persistant tooth ache, or maybe decay bad enough to be noticed in my breath or taste buds. I'd had enough things breaking and aching in my mouth already, though, to know that I had the will to wait most of them out, however painful.
My money was on some kind of trauma situation.
Anyway, having been finally forced to go to the dentist, the next part of the story was the exam, and particularly the reaction of the dentist. Seeing all the previous work that had been done-- the crowns that made up the bulk of my top arch, none of which had been properly maintained-- and the extent of the decay on the remaining teeth, the dentist would declare the whole thing a loss. "We can maybe save a few of them, but at this point there's more damaged teeth than healthy ones, so you'd be better off just pulling them all than trying to save the rest."
And then came the part of the story I feared the most. I'd go home to my wife, and have to tell her that I'd lost all my teeth to neglect, and that we'd have to take some time off work to have the major procedure done. And then I'd have to tell all my friends at work that I would be out for a while. Maybe I could lie or be vague: "I'm having some medical work done," but then I'd have to find some way to stay hidden away while my poor mouth heeled up and I could get dentures or implants. I'd heard it took six months before you were eligible for implants, so I figured I could take a leave of absence or something while I hid at home, eating applesauce. I had a couple of close friends picked out who I'd share the real story with, after swearing them to secrecy.
Although sometimes I actually imagined that dying young would be easier, mostly I figured I'd probably be forced to live through this scenario, and I'd survive it. But it wasn't a chapter of my life I looked forward to. I figured the whole process would take about a year, and I'd more or less just have to drop off the face of the world until I could re-emerge with something that looked like a normal smile.
The real story has been much less dramatic, as you might imagine. The Moment came in the form of a fairly mundane toothache-- throbbing at first, then progressing to sharp nerve pain-- that was bad enough that I couldn't eat. And yet, not so traumatic that I needed an ambulance. The dentist didn't shriek or cringe or declare my mouth a toxic zone; she just worked on the aching tooth, and later calmly listed the work needed. It's a long list and I'll lose a couple of teeth, but I feel lucky that it's not worse.
But best of all, I can do the work at little at a time; an afternoon here, a morning there. I don't have to hide away for a year, although I did have to admit to my wife that I need a lot of work done. And, instead of hiding my secret, I now feel a sense of pride about having taken control of my situation.
The one thing I was most wrong about though: not one person has asked for an explanation. When I tell people, "I'm having a lot of dental work done," they change the subject. It turns out, no one really likes talking about the dentist (except newly ex-phobics like me), and lots of people have work that they're putting off. Mostly people end the conversation as quickly as possible.
I've been examining this story I made up lately. To be honest, I started looking at it a little even before I broke down and went to the dentist. And the thing about it is, none of it has to do with pain. Almost all of it has to do with shame and embarrassment and having my dirty little secret revealed to the world. I didn't look forward to the pain either, but I'd had enough dental work done in the past to know that most procedures don't hurt much, if at all.
The frightening truth is this:
The thing that most kept me away from the dentist was shame. The shame of having neglected my teeth, the shame of losing my teeth. The fear of discovery was so strong that I would have rather died, or gotten into a terrible accident, than face the shame of my teeth.
I consider myself very lucky in many ways. I was forced to go to the dentist before I did actually lose all my teeth, and I don't have a lot of the phobias-- needles, latex, numbness-- that a lot of people have. I was actually afraid of the dentist, too, but when I examine my own story, it's that fear of being discovered, of revealing my secret, that really terrified me.
Isn't that amazing, the power that shame can hold over us?
About a year before I went to the dentist, I started seeing a psychologist to work through some other issues related to work and family. I never dared to tell my deep dark secret to my therapist-- part of my story involved my therapist, once she found out about my teeth, nagging me to see a dentist immediately and persistently-- but I think that some of the work we did on other issues around shame and trust and self confidence gave me the strength to start owning my own story... even the parts that involve letting my teeth rot and decay. My own inner strength, and being accepted as "normal" by my dentist, have given me some of the tools I need to start feeling okay about my teeth, and to consider myself valuable enough to take care of myself, teeth and all.
I see in this all a larger pattern, of accepting myself and allowing myself to have flaws and defects. I look around and I see people struggling with infidelity, with gambling and drugs, with eating disorders and the consequences of any number of bad choices. I wonder how many of them would rather die than reveal their secrets, and I see the craziness of that thought pattern. But I see its appeal, too. As much as I wanted not to keep losing my teeth, even more than that I feared facing my problem, even a little bit. The whole thing felt like a house of cards I was forced to keep building: I knew the inevitable ending, but I feared any wrong move would bring the whole thing down.
I don't know how much of my story, how much of my phobia, applies to other readers here. I don't want to downplay my fear of many of the same things here: the drill, the pick, the pain, the loss of control. But when I look at these things from a distance, I see that the larger fear was of admitting, "I've messed up bad, and I need help fixing it." I imagine it's a similar feeling of helplessness and loss of control that comes with many big problems in life.
I really hope that everyone here, who is feeling the same sense of dread that I carried with me for so long, finds their way through to the other side. However bad your teeth are, however extensive the treatment, I tell you this: nothing feels as good as putting all that shame and anxiety behind you and finally feeling free.
![[smiley=jumping.gif]](/forum/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/dfcsmilies/jumping.gif "Jumping [smiley=jumping.gif]")
I'm so glad it went well for you! I was told that the actual tooth gets in the way when they pull it anyway. They don't just grab hold of a tooth and yank like your parents pulled a baby tooth out of your mouth. Remember to rinse with warm salt water at least 4 times a day. It really helps in the healing process. I did it for a couple of weeks, actually. The hole where my tooth was (which I call a "ditch" 
Well done with the extraction Steve. We really must tell our uninformed thoughts to butt out at times lol!![[smiley=ashamed.gif]](/forum/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/dfcsmilies/ashamed.gif "Ashamed [smiley=ashamed.gif]")
n!). I was not averse to the idea until I learned that my medical insurance does not cover ADD/LD neuropsych testing for adults, so I would have to pay for it myself, approximately $2,500. I had a healthcare reimbursement account with about $1,500 in it, so I was willing to do this until I needed the HRA money for dental expenses. When I next see Dr. Happier, I'll have to explain why I can't have the neuropsych testing right now. Even though I like Dr. Happier, I've never told him or anyone else in the psych clinic about my dental phobia. . .I was too afraid that they'd insist I see a dentist!
), I was unexpectedly surprised at my independent pharmacy. Waiting for prescriptions to be filled, I went to buy a few other things, including dental floss. There on a nearby shelf was a store-brand sonic toothbrush, including four heads and a UV cleaning system, for approximately $55! I bought it and have been using it for about three weeks, yet am not quite used to it. Also, I still keep my trusty Fuchs manual toothbrush for cleaning the tops of my teeth and brushing my tongue.** With Fuchs toothbrushes, one keeps the same handle and changes the head. . .I should have known I was overbrushing because I was changing the worn-out head once a month, not once every three months!
