This time, he adjusts the chair a little higher and more upright. He rolls his chair closer to me and used the fingers of his left hand to hold the mirror while the rest of his hand pulls my head closer to his chest. I could smell the "dentist" on him so well... "Open up for me," he says while his left hand pulls my upper lip straight up high, and his right hand rubs some gauze on my gums right above my front teeth. Then he says, "Ok, bite down now," and his right hand quickly disappeared and then suddenly was right at the bottom of my vision, holding this large, metal syringe with a big ring over his thumb and the pointiest needle I could ever remember seeing. While his left hand pulled my head a little closer to his chest, a little bit tighter, his right hand moved up and I felt the first bit of the needle poking through my gum.
"Ahhh!" I remember saying, because the needle stick felt a lot worse than the first one in the side of my mouth. "Easy now, easy," says Dr. Bob, holding my head tight. Then came the burning. And I cried out, but it wouldn't stop. I squirmed and struggled, but he had me right where he wanted me -- I wasn't going anywhere, especially not my mouth. "Shhh, shhhh, easy now, just a little longer," he says. But it didn't feel like a little longer, it felt like a good long time with that needle deep in my gums pointing right up my face, and it felt like it was never going to end, until it finally did.
My mother was with me, and as an only child she probably felt it as much as I did, having to watch me suffer, and even asked Dr. Bob, "Did it have to be so hard? Wasn't there another way to get him numb?" His only reply was "Not really, I could've given him a shot in the roof of his mouth, but ... he wouldn't have liked that at all." In the roof of my mouth? They DO that? You mean this could've been even WORSE?
The rest of it wasn't painful, but I was on edge the entire time just waiting for something else to be excruciatingly painful. None of it was, but with that thought in mind and watching each and every scary, pointy, drill-y thing going into my mouth, I was done for. Right there that day I knew I was no match for the "torture" that a dentist could impose. I fought going for years with my Dad always dismissing my fears, saying "Oh, Gflin, stop being such a baby, it's not like it hurts like it did when I was a kid!" Thanks Dad, big help.
Sorry this was so long. This is actually the first time I've ever actually related this story in any more detail than, "Yeah, had a bad experience, not a fan of dentists." Now that I read it and see how much detail sticks in my mind, it's actually kind of obvious why this turned into such a phobia/fetish. Well. I guess I've covered the phobia part, the fetish part might be at least as interesting!