What Nerve(s) I Have With Doctors

I was at the dentist’s office the other day and like other people I know, a total wimp fearing what might happen once the drilling started.

On this day, the dentist started pasting desensitizing gel on my teeth. I could feel my lips quivering. It reminded me of my friend’s late dog, Eros, whose mouth trembled and frothed with saliva out of fear whenever Dave, his master, left him alone for even one second. I pictured Eros’s whole body thrusting wildly about, like how Elvis Presley used to shake when singing Hound Dog

To reassure me or maybe himself, the dentist said nothing bad was about to happen, even while I was convinced it would sooner than later. Above all, I hoped not to have a panic attack so the dentist and his hygienist wouldn’t also have a panic attack. Maybe it makes me sound weird, but my fear of the dentist losing a grip was one of my biggest fears. Just like when President Franklin D. Roosevelt famously said, “The Only Thing We Have to Fear Is Fear Itself.”

I’m not exaggerating how I react when I go for medical treatment, and maybe sometimes for good cause. This dentist suddenly blurted out loud, much to my consternation, “I don’t know what to do” regarding a balky new dental bridge that refused to fit right in my mouth. I worried not only that the procedure might be going bad but also that he might be scared I was a litigious sort and quit right there on the spot, with my bridge hanging sideways out of my mouth. If he had to bottle up his feelings all day, that wouldn’t be so good for his health, never mind mine. Thankfully, he figured out what to do. We both went home happy, him hopefully as happy I was that my bridge and I escaped in one piece.

Then there’s the case of hoping not to hurt a doctor’s feelings when you think he’s not up to snuff. I can definitely empathize with my friend Sam who’s been losing sleep over whether to change eye doctors. His dilemma started months ago when he learned he needed cataract surgery. His doctor’s getting up in years, and Sam’s been debating ad nauseum on whether he should start seeing somebody else who’s much younger and might have a steadier hand to remove the cataracts. Seeing (no pun intended) the same eye doctor for 20 years has Sam scared that the old man might get clinically depressed if Sam said he no longer wants to be his patient. Depressed? That’s not the right word. How about suicidal?

I can hear someone saying I must be a total jerk to believe I’m such an empathetic and compassionate soul who’s obsessed about doctors’ feelings and wondering what that might cause them to mistreat me. Maybe subconsciously I believe if I’m nice to doctors, they’ll do me no harm, like their Hippocratic Oath says.

It’s not necessarily that I have my own (hypocritical) oath saying I should be friends with doctors in order for them to give me all their best treatment so I don’t freak out. Therefore, I’ve made a solemn vow to give my doctors all the TLC I can give. Which, if nothing else, will allow me to stop worrying whether one day the doctor will lose all patience with patients like me.

 

Eric Green is a notorious humor writer. His published free-lance articles have appeared in Points in Case, Humor Times, the Washington Post, Baltimore Sun, Oddball Magazine, and elsewhere. His latest short story, “A Hudson River Affair,” was published by the Hudson Valley (New York) Writers Guild.