Letter 49 – The Dentist

Garrett,

I’m unable to go to the dentist since you died. I don’t know if it’s because I feel so vulnerable sitting in the chair with my mouth wide open or the fact that the people there are so nice. I can practically feel the sympathy dripping from them. I can’t do it. I tried, not too long after you died. I had an appointment, for a cleaning. I knew they knew what had happened. And the guy, the teeth cleaner, was so nice, chatting about nothing at all. Making small talk. But I knew he knew and there was something so intimate to me about what was about to happen, about him putting tools in my mouth and being so close to my face. I felt myself start to lose it.

Crap, I remember thinking to myself. You can do this. Think of something else. Refrigerators. Microwaves. Cold, cold air coming out of the freezer. Tools. Inanimate objects that have no feelings.  

It didn’t work. Tears started to fall while I was willing myself to not do this.

Of course, he noticed. Of course he did. And he said to me, I don’t think we should have this appointment today. What do you think? And I said, yes, I think you’re right. The tears kept coming. And he said, I’m just going to go out front and make sure it’s clear for you and I’ll be right back. Okay, I said. I sat up and grabbed my purse and I stood in the cubicle and then I heard Sherrie’s voice somewhere else in the office. And I knew that she knew what had happened, because her son was the same age you. The two of you had gone to preschool together. And her son was fine and mine was, gone. And she is just about the nicest person there ever is. And I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to see the sympathy on her face. As if she could never imagine something so terrible ever happening.

I was losing it in the dentist’s office. It was bad. And then teeth cleaning guy appeared and gently escorted me through the office and out the door. I spoke to no one. I left the office and got in my car and broke down in the parking lot. All from trying to get my teeth cleaned. I haven’t been back. The idea of laying back down in that chair and feeling so vulnerable makes me say, No. That’s not going happen anytime soon. I’ve thought about changing dentists, to someone who’s not as nice as they are. I haven’t done it, but I can’t make myself go in, either.