The Dentist’s Final Solution.

 How to discourage unwanted clients (From ‘Sitting on The Fence')

Many of you probably ‘hate�?going to the dentist, well, there ‘is�?a cure for those three monthly visits and their following drilling or extractions

 This happened when I was just eleven years old and had started my first year in Grammer School, at a time in Scotland (1956) when sallow skin was akin to leprosy. In the mid fifties, there were few people who were not white skinned in my neighbourhood nor in my world of antagonism and prejudice. I shall write in the third person so I might remove myself from association.

 As a child with a nervous disposition, she used to doodle with her pencil…on paper, on steamed up windows, on anything which would relect her words and feelings. One day as she chewed on the end of her pencil, it splintered! She spat out the fragments of fine balsa type wood into her handkechief and continued with her schoolwork, but, when she got home, she noticed the tiny black speck of lead between her two front teeth. On her Mother’s return from work, she also tried to remove it with a toothbrush and a pin…but the only answer seemed to be a visit to the dentist.

 This was a large old Victorian house with a huge entrance. Inside the vast hallway, she could see people sitting inside an oak panelled room, bearing the sign Waiting Room on it’s door. A starched white uniform showed them both into there in slence. Noone smiled, they looked and returned their eye back to their magazine or, they simply sat... and stared at her. Later, she could see by the look on the dentists face that she was not welcome amidst his other patients. But, nonetheless, he told her Mother that he could ‘deal�?with ‘the�?problem and asked his nurse to make an appointment for the following Monday…he then added that he would prefer them to go round to the side door and wait in a separate small room named Recovery next time.

On arrival that day and shaking to high heaven, she was separated from her Mother by the nurse and lead into the surgical room where the dentist stood frowning, his brow furrowed even deeper when this child dared to ask what he was going to do. His response was to silently place the mask over her mouth.

 She began to come round…the lights were hazey and she felt sickly nauseous, a warm liquid, as though she had already vomitted and it was still in her mouth �?made her wonder what had happened. The nurse sounded concerned, “Will she be alright?�?she quietly asked the dentist.

“She will be fine and at least she won’t be seen here again!�?he sounded gruff and cold and unfeeling. The nurse smiled sympathetically as she undid the straps which had restrained her arms from leaving the sides of this huge brown leather chair. Suddenly, the girl found her head being lifted over  a bowl and a flood of red gushed out of her mouth and splattered everywhere! Her first dazed thought was, “Oh no! He’s taken out my two front teeth! I could have tried harder if I’d known !�?/P>

The nurse then helped her out of the chair and she stumbled towards a huge gilded mirror to look at the damage to her already unacceptable social image. Taking hold of the mantleshelf, she looked at her reflection and as she saw the blood pouring from her mouth…she opened it panic. It opened as far as it would go in a horrified silent scream, as this eleven year old girl realised, that what had been the home of her gleaming well cared for smile…was now a totally empty, blood red, gaping hole!!!

 “No! she tried to cry out, “No…please tell me …NOOOOO!

 The pain in her mouth was horrendous, but the pain in her mind was indescribable.

 ©  ZYDHA HART   2004