There was no fear in that surgery and a whole heap of laughs!
But over the years I lost my trust. I became fearful. I allowed the dentistry devils to move in. In short, I developed a phobia which made me feel physically sick so that I couldn't actually think straight anymore. Stupid? Yes! Avoidable? If, you have a logical brain, maybe. But we are talking the The Misfit here!
So several visits to various practices and a few botched jobs later, I've been led me to the dentist of my dreams.
My last 'Demon Dentist' (no, I won't name and shame) left me with a half-broken wisdom tooth and said I'd need to be referred to the hospital for a surgical extraction. I think the truth was, after FORTY MINUTES of wrenching, he basically gave up. Hey! At that point I was quite happy to leave - I'd had enough too. (Memories of being in early labour sprung to mind - that moment when the midwives tell you to go home because nothing much is happening and you think to yourself, 'Oooh! That's good. I don't actually have to do this anymore!')
But of course, you DO have to deal with it eventually - rancid teeth or babies, you can't ignore them forever. One way or another, they're coming out!
So when the euphoria of being back home died down and I realised that I still had a manky, rotten stump of an evil piece of nothingness living inside me (the tooth, not the baby!) I knew I had to find a solution quickly.
Having been told by the 'Demon Dentist' that there was a NINE MONTH waiting list to have the ****** removed at an NHS hospital, this was not an option! Sheesh! If I was young enough I could make and produce another baby during that time frame!
And so began the hunt for the 'Dream Dentist'. Hours of Googling and panicking about what this whole nightmare was going to cost me, led me to ... (humour me here, I'm a romantic comedy writer!) my Knight in Shining Face-Mask.
From the moment I spoke to the lovely receptionist, Loretta, at Gentle Dental (now she's a lady who needs to feature in one of my books one day!) I knew I'd hit the jackpot. Nothing was too much trouble, I wasn't a paranoid looney, I hadn't lost my marbles - I was simply a nervous patient with concerns and they were instantly dealt with.
Fast forward to the appointment with Dr Etienne after sleepless nights of imagining (at the very least) blood-shed, torture, agony, 'nee-naw'-ing ambulances and almost certain death (Drama queen? Moi?!).
From the minute I shook his hand, looked into his kind eyes and listened to his soft South African accent, I was a little bit in love. The writer in me began scribbling notes - older love interest with a sense of humour, kind, calm, solid and dependable.
This was the man for the job! There was no doubt in my mind.
And apart from the colly-wobbles (I'm famous for them! - think: whole body jiggles like a jelly and can't actually sit still, no matter how hard it tries!) all was well. He ripped that ****** out in less than five minutes and did something no one has ever done before.
Yes, while under his spell, he gazed deep into my soul and explained why I shouldn't smoke for three days. At this point I would have walked over hot coals, vowed never to have a saucy Richard Gere thought ever again or even renounced the odd glass of Pinot - and all I could do was nod, wide-eyed, and say, 'Ngggnginnggkkay' through a mouthful of cotton wads.
But, as he'd fulfilled his promise of a painless and hassle-free extraction, I kept my end of the bargain and didn't smoke. It almost killed me (no irony intended!) but I did it.
AND ... my fear has gone. I'm ready to start the journey to a beautiful mouth and I'm happy to become a regular visitor and undertake any procedures they throw at me. I never would have thought I'd say that.
The Misfit is smiling!
I have not been paid to write this. These are my thoughts and opinions on Gentle Dental, Putney, London. If you're a local - go there! You won't look back.
