By Jennifer Jackson Whittier
As a child, nothing struck more fear in my
heart like a trip to the dentist. When I was
growing up, there were no such things as artificial
sweetener, fluoride in toothpaste or water, diet
drinks or fancy rotating toothbrushes. Sugary treats
were part of our daily diets. We knew exactly
how many licks it took to get to the center of
a Tootsie Pop. Colgate and baking soda were our
go-to products for cleaning our pearly whites, but
cavities were common place. I kept a piece of
Double Bubble in my mouth and often used it as
a substitute for brushing. I hated milk, still
do, except now I know there’s actually a name
for that…….lactose intolerance. I’d eat cereal with
a fork; but cheese and ice cream didn’t bother my
digestive system….go figure. My disgust
for milk was blamed for the cavities that plagued
me. My teeth were like chalk, so trips to the
Mama was well aware of my denta-phobia
and tried clever ways to trick me into a drama
free experience. She’d check me out of
school early and tried to act as if she had no
scheme up her sleeve, but I knew better.
As soon as we turned the corner by the post
office, I knew full well that we were headed to
Dr. Tindall’s office. Dr. Jack Tindall had been
our family dentist for years; he was also quite a
well respected community leader and later the
author a comprehensive history of Lincoln
County. He was a veritable Michelangelo of
amalgam crowns and could craft a replacement
for any tooth during a single dental visit. None
of these accomplishments relieved my stress
level; and as soon as the car stopped in front
of his office, I broke into the cold sweats
that accompany anxiety diarrhea. Every joint
in my body locked up, and I envisioned myself
having to be forcibly carried into the waiting
room. I can still smell that small, sterile
chamber…..a mixture of rubbing alcohol and
Novocain. I sat in quiet fear until the nurse
came to escort me to THE CHAIR. It was then
that the prayers began. Please, Sweet Jesus,
don’t let me gag. I had a gag reflex that was
unequaled in all of Lincoln County. Had there
been an Olympic competition for gagging,
I would have indeed been the winner of a
gold medal. Dr. Tindall casually strode into
the room, and the very first words out of his
mouth were JENNIFER, DON’T START THAT
GAGGING TODAY! He and I both knew that
once the mirror on a stick touched the back
of my tongue, all bets were off, and the
I was quite familiar with the procedure;
after unclenching my jaws, he would swab my
mouth with something orange flavored on a Q-tip;
then came the Novocain, administered
with a needle and syringe the size of a
turkey baster. The doctor would leave the
room for a few minutes, and when he
returned, I would be numb from my eyebrows
to my collarbone. The drilling would begin
soon, along with the odor of metal on
flint stone. By now, my hands had made
indelible imprints in the chair handles, but
it wasn’t long before the fillings were packed
and polished; the end was in sight, and I had
survived. Dr. Tindall had worked his magic
once again, and I didn’t gag once!
Mama was waiting for me in the car. She
treated me to ice cream at Kern’s Café. I
couldn’t taste or even feel a single bite
of the frozen goodness, and we laughed as
it dripped down my chin. I knew that another
appointment had been scheduled, but that
was a childhood worry for another day.
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