B
Bruno
Junior member
- Joined
- Sep 15, 2022
- Messages
- 5
- Location
- Mexico
I thought you might be interested to know a bit about why I have lifelong dental phobia.
In the late 1950s my parents used to take me to a dentist, Dr Halewood, his surgery was close to Blundellsands and Crosby railway station on Merseyside.
I have no idea why my parents put me through such agony time after time.
All fillings were done without any anaesthetic.
One visit, I could hear screaming from behind the surgery doors, so an idea came into my mind. It was winter and am electric fire was on. I thought, if I electrocute myself, I will be unconscious and they can drill my teeth before I wake up.
So I went over to the fire, put my hands through the bars, and grabbed each end of the element.
The next thing, I found myself lying on the waiting room floor with a ring of faces peering down at me.
Having made sure I was awake they then took me into the surgery for torturing.
Postscript:
Years later I passed by the surgery and noticed the brass plate had gone. I asked a neighbour if the awful Doctor was still there.
"No," she replied. "Were you one of his patients?"
"I was, and I don't want to remember about it."
She explained that the doctor had been taken away by the police, and that he had been addicted to his own nitrous oxide.
Moving to Mexico had the enormous psychological benefit that I no longer have to visit British dental butchers. But I still have mental trauma.
In the late 1950s my parents used to take me to a dentist, Dr Halewood, his surgery was close to Blundellsands and Crosby railway station on Merseyside.
I have no idea why my parents put me through such agony time after time.
All fillings were done without any anaesthetic.
One visit, I could hear screaming from behind the surgery doors, so an idea came into my mind. It was winter and am electric fire was on. I thought, if I electrocute myself, I will be unconscious and they can drill my teeth before I wake up.
So I went over to the fire, put my hands through the bars, and grabbed each end of the element.
The next thing, I found myself lying on the waiting room floor with a ring of faces peering down at me.
Having made sure I was awake they then took me into the surgery for torturing.
Postscript:
Years later I passed by the surgery and noticed the brass plate had gone. I asked a neighbour if the awful Doctor was still there.
"No," she replied. "Were you one of his patients?"
"I was, and I don't want to remember about it."
She explained that the doctor had been taken away by the police, and that he had been addicted to his own nitrous oxide.
Moving to Mexico had the enormous psychological benefit that I no longer have to visit British dental butchers. But I still have mental trauma.
