Hg free

I have often wondered whether we ever truly heal.  There is always some kind of scar.  It can be big and lumpy, or small and dicreet, but there nonetheless. Once a part of ourselves is scarred, can we ever reclaim it?  It becomes more of an issue of management.

This was highlighted to me over the past few weeks.  I have been having some dental work done, mercury out, some other white stuff in. 

There is something about the memory of physical pain that floors me.  Takes me straight back to the original event.  And dental work is right up there with my most painful experiences.

When I was about six, I had a rough dentist who hurt me, so I bit him and then refused to open my mouth.  The result was a hiding and a threat about "open my mouth or else".  So, new dentist, trying to inject me (how enormous is that syringe? was it designed like that on purpose?) and then the glass vile exploding in my mouth, the anesthetic dripping down my throat, I can hardly breath, the glass is sucked up, .... I must lie still or else... and so a very terrifying experience is imprinted onto my small being. 

Now some years later, I find out that I have a mouth full of mercury which should be removed as it is probably leeching into my brain and causing some of the dementia I am prone to.

So basically, I have to go through the same god-awful experience again, just because some genius decided that the mouth was an intelligent place to store the planet's supply of mercury.

After three years of back peddling and excuses, I made an appointment to see a dentist.  First appointment, always a breeze, all they do is have a look.  Five fillings, all leeching.  Fucking beautiful.

It must be hard to be a dentist.  No-one really wants to see you.  You are probably the least loved of all in the medical profession.  So if anyone out there is terrified, go and check out Dr Mo Karodia. 

He is a small unassuming man with a gentle voice and a sweet face.  This is a good start.  I like him at first sight.  He chats about this and that, taking your focus away from those dreadful pointy things that cause the nightmares. 

He talks of his parents from Persia and his desire to change dentistry to less more careful decisions around drilling and extractions.  He does not perform root canals.  Hey I'm liking the guy.  He can probably see from my uncontrolable convulsions that I am fairly nervous.  I puts his hand on my shoulder and speaks soothingly.  His nurse also helps by holding my hand as he administers the anesthetic.  And my rock, Noel, is there too, supporting me as always through my tough times.

The first session was full on.  I regressed onto the small six year old in the chair, uncontrollable sobbing, body jolts and spasms through most of the session.  I had the aid of an iPod to try and drown out the sound of drilling and coax me into a more relaxed state.  The glasses and oxygen all help.  I could hardly see or hear anything, just the vibrations of the drill keep me twitching...

After the third session, I feel as though I have dealt with some major past trauma.  Dr Mo is a really good dentist and I feel comfortable sitting in that chair, knowing that he will take good care of me not inflict unnecessary pain. 

Yet I still remember the feeling of lying in that chair all those years ago, and waiting for the pain to come.  I remember the feeling of being totally helpless, that the big people told me that this was going to be for my own good.  How I have carried that fear with me all these years.  A deep scar in my being.