Yesterday I got to spend 45 minutes in the spotlight! At least my mouth did.
At promptly 11 a.m. my regular teeth-cleaning appointment began with some unfortunate news. My usual hygienist, Lisa, had recently retired. The new woman was nice enough. But it takes a special person to work on my mouth. I bite people.
I did not want to put this cleaning off, so I silently agreed to sit down in the new lady’s chair. Goodbye, Lisa, my compassionate friend. Hello, New lady, I wish you were Lisa.
At least I had brought my distractions. Two pair of earphones (in case the first one stopped working), my special playlist (something that sounds good loud, Bruce Springsteen), a worry stone and flip-flops for easy shoe removal.
Lisa knew of my idiosyncrasies and never criticized me for them. Over the past few years together we developed techniques to soothe my nerves and make the whole process less stressful for me.
Earlier in my life, I learned to be a passive patient and do what was required for teeth-cleaning – be still, breathe through your nose and don’t bite.
I come from the era before suction, when—between the scraping and the drilling—you actually had to sit up, turn your head and spit into a tiny sink every couple of minutes.
My first trip to the dentist at age 5 or 6 had been just one of many traumatic dental experiences. It was no joke, and there was no laughing gas (now referred to by its proper name, nitrous oxide).
If you were a well-behaved little girl—and cavity-free—the front-desk lady would offer you candy on the way out and say “You get a good checkup” loud enough for your mother to hear from the waiting room.
Suffice it to say that my first visit to the dentist did not end with candy. But I did have a bright red booty by the time we got off the elevator on the first floor.
I also have PTSD from the time in my early twenties when I white-knuckled the removal of my wisdom teeth (or “third molars” as they are called when no wisdom is involved) by someone who was not technically an oral surgeon and who only provided valium and Novocain for the procedure. I didn’t have dental coverage at the time, so in the interest of saving money I went anesthesia-free. They handed me a teddy bear to squeeze for comfort. On my way out, they advised me not to look in the mirror for the rest of the day.
Of course, you know what I immediately did, don’t you? Goodbye wisdom – hello dumbass.
I wanted you to hear why I’m so screwed up at the dentist, so you would understand why I had to come up with serious techniques to manage my nerves. Maybe they could work for someone else. Here’s motivating you to give them a try. Are they really yoga techniques? Kind of, but not really.
Techniques for Yoga at the Dentist…
- Take off shoes
- Put on headphones
- Special playlist
- Tap
- Gas