Closeup of an American Dental Association claim form for dentistry services (photo by Kenn Stearns)

Dentists, oral surgeons, and orthodontists played a leading role in the drama of my youth. My teeth were a much bigger mess than they are now. They were growing in funky directions, some permanent teeth never made it, all photos from my formative school years reveal a face full of metal, and my jaw doesn’t function like everyone’s. Over the decades the interior of my face has been stabbed, drilled, cut, carved, sliced, wired, banded, filled, bridged, capped, and professionally flossed. In my mind, Freddy Krueger is a wuss compared to anyone engaged in dentistry. But my current dentist changed all that, one year and filling at a time.

In an era of ObamaCare, health maintenance organizations, and multi-office dental clinics staffed by a dentist-du-jour, my dentist only has one office and works with his wife. My dentist and his wife know my name, and the names of my family members. My dentist doesn’t need no stickin’ hygienist – he and his wife handle my checkups all by themselves. My dentist gives me a new toothbrush after each visit. Over the years I’ve recommended my dentist to friends. I trust my dentist to care for my wife and children. Remarkably, I’ve become good friends with my dentist and his wife.

While it’s not out of the ordinary for anyone to consider having a dentist as a friend, it is from my perspective extraordinary. I am dental fear’s poster child. Whatever you call it – odontophobia, dentophobia, dentist phobia, dental anxiety – I’m there. The horrific hallucinations I’ve experienced while under the influence of various anesthetics propelled dentists to a level of abhorrence for which there are no words. Drill-wielding goggled freaks in crisp white jackets have played a starring role in my nightmares for decades. Rinse and spit. Giant stainless steel syringes with glistening needles. The first time I saw the infamous Is. It. Safe? scene in the film Marathon Man it was easy to identify – finally, an accurate portrayal of how I felt.

I’m not the easiest patient. I use humor and antics to express my über nervousness. It would be easy to imagine my dentist retelling stories to his senior dental students about another strange encounter with his eccentric patient who asks too many questions, talks incessantly, and interferes. Not long ago when a permanent crown didn’t feel to me like it was seated properly, I reached in and took it out as soon as my dentist turned away. In the process I almost swallowed the little jewel. It wasn’t a conscious act of stupidity, but rather a misguided effort to help. Yesterday only once did I catch myself not breathing during drilling for a shiny new filling.

But my dentist shrugs off these peculiarities. He and his wife do their best to allay my fear. My dentist can administer a shot of Novocaine better than anyone else on the entire planet. I used to require “sedation dentistry,” nitrous oxide (aka laughing gas) before enjoying the Novocaine, but my dentist got me over that. Yesterday I went in with a broken tooth and we talked and laughed about popular issues – family, health care, politics, and the economy. My dentist proposed a filling when others may have recommended a more expensive crown. We laughed about my dental insurance coverage. I don’t ever recall laughing about anything while visiting a dentist.