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Taking my boys to the dentist is a chore that is not fun for anyone. They tolerate it because they have to but it is not without complaining the entire ride in the car. I have learned to give them no warning. It is better to announce it just before we leave. My stomach is usually in knots with stress by the time that we walk through the large glass doors into the beach-themed pediatric dental office. As we check in, I flash a big smile at the faces of my scowling children.
As my older boys went back for their cleanings, I sat in the waiting room with my 2-year-old. He played at the train table while I sat quietly near him, reading a book with my leg crossed over the other and rolling the ankle gently from side to side. It was relaxing, almost. I ridiculed myself for letting my nerves get the best of me. The visit was almost over. My 7-year-old emerged from the back with a shiny gold token in his hand for his prize. As he placed the token in the machine, I heard the thump of the bouncy ball dropping and rolling to the bottom of the machine, waiting to be claimed. My son lifted the tiny door and the blue sparkled ball appeared. He held it up with two fingers, turning it in the light. I saw him shrug his shoulders and hand it to his little brother who squealed with happiness. The prizes seem to no longer hold the value that they did when my kids were younger.
Next, the door with the painted palm tree opened and we were called back to room with my 5-year-old. This did not surprise me. After every cleaning, the dentist would usually talk to me about the check up and praise the condition of my boys’ teeth. But this time I was shown an X-ray and the dreaded words rang through my head--cavities!
As my other two sons pointed out the painted ocean animals on the hallway walls, the dentist quietly told me what he found. As he spoke I looked at my son’s sweet face. Even in the chair that was scaled down to a children’s size, he looked younger than five. He sat still with his little hands folded in his lap. He looked straight ahead, occasionally blinking his golden brown eyes. I couldn’t be sure if he was blocking out the talk of cavities or truly not listening.
Of all of my children, this was the worst news that it was my middle son. He seems to be the most sensitive of the three and the discomfort from a hangnail will ruin his day. As the dentist and his assistant continued to talk to me, I started to feel lightheaded. My children had never had cavities before. How could I have let this happened? Did I make him brush every night? Did I help him floss even when I was too tired? The Mom guilt grabbed onto me and pinched. Now I understood the nervousness I felt when I arrived. It was the fear of feeling like a terrible mother.
As I pressed them for details about the procedure for the filling, I only felt worse. My eyes started to fill with tears and I was holding back the shaking feeling inside my chest. When I asked about what would be done about his pain, they told me in code about the needle. The thought of someone poking a needle in my son’s tender gums made me sick to my stomach and I lost it.
With my back to my son, my shoulders shook as I quietly cried in the dentist’s room. His assistant discreetly handed me tissues to dry my tears as she assured me, “Kids get cavities. You’re not a bad mom.” As hard as I tried, I could not control my emotions. Not one of my proudest moments.
I managed to fake a bright smile on the walk outside and held it all the way home until I could offer my kids their favorite cartoon. Then I quietly slipped away to the back bedroom to call my husband and deliver the bad news. I grabbed a box of tissues on the way. I was on my way to being emotionally drained and it was only 10:30 in the morning.
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