Are you afraid of the dentist? Drill down for distraction

What do you fear more: public speaking or a dentist appointment? It’s a tough choice to swallow, isn’t it?

I’ve done both more times than I can count and still get anxious beforehand. The worst part is the wait leading up to it. Our mind plays tricks on us with the conspiracy of time.

I’d do a lot better if I was kicked off the street and dragged onto a stage in front of 200 people to give a one-hour presentation on, say, doorknobs. Or kidnapped by a gang of dental hygienists, thrown into a dental chair and tied with dental floss. There would be no stress before the visit.

But when you tell me my next date is on a certain date, guess which date becomes one of my least favorite dates of the year. Now I dread that date. It’s like circling a date on the calendar and writing in big bold letters “Uh-oh.”

It’s different with public speaking, which I usually agree with because the date is so far in the future that I don’t think it will ever arrive. Last month, I was asked, “Are you available to speak on March 4th?”

Of course, I replied. March 4 doesn’t exist yet, I thought. It’s like asking if I’d like to make an appointment with the dentist on Mars. Of course, I would answer casually. The. No. Exists. But then — what do you know? — Will arrive March 4th. And then I will arrive, carrying the baggage of my anxiety.

I’m not alone. There have been decades of studies on “dental fear.” It can be more painful than actual dental treatment.

I visited my dentist last week. As the dental hygienist cleaned my teeth, I started writing this column in my head. Any distraction is welcome.

Since my youth, I have had countless dental procedures in different practices. I know the process like the back of my mouth. Sit in the chair, lean back, open my mouth, clasp my hands together and let my mind wander.

Distracting the conversation is a dental tool you won’t find on the hygienist’s tray, but is vital for most fearful patients.

“How about the weather today?”

“What are you doing later today?”

“Do you have any vacation plans?”

Kudos to those who tried to ease patient concerns.

I’d rather have a root canal than engage in polite chit-chat, but my preferred conversations are difficult 30-second intervals with a suction tube in my mouth.

Playing with words is one of my favorite things in the world. But I need my mouth to do it. Without verbal words, my facial expressions are as telling as a bowl of oatmeal.

At my recent dentist appointment, the hygienist brought up an interesting topic with which I have personal history — the role of the stepparent in a blended family. I could give a public presentation on this topic, contrasting its challenges and rewards. I lived it. I know. I have learned so much from it.

But I was not able to develop my knowledge as much as I would have liked. I felt like I talked too much as it was, causing the hygienist to take a break from cleaning me. My inner dialogue screamed at me, “Shut up!”

I should know better. I have an inside source on this sensitive subject. My wife is a dental hygienist. I have heard stories of patients who never shut up. Or that they never talk. Or never brush their teeth. Or they think yarn is a dance move. Lying about brushing our teeth is our national pastime.

Some patients don’t think twice about devouring a package of Oreo cookies on their way to see a dentist. Who are these barbarians? Other patients accuse hygienists of taking too long to clean their teeth, even though they haven’t had their teeth brushed since the Trump administration. I would have no patience for most patients.

I have had many crowns, root canals, fillings and numbing done. I have scanned myself and I sounded like a drunk toddler. I once had a very painful condition called dry socket — for days — but I didn’t tell my dentist. I didn’t want to come across as a whiny or noisy patient.

“Why didn’t you call my office?” my former dentist asked angrily.

I didn’t have the nerve to tell him the truth. I was afraid that the treatment might hurt. This is the power of irrational fear. It hurts more than what we really fear.