At first I was thrilled when I found out I was going; Mom made it sound as nice as pie...I'd be sitting in a big chair while someone cleaned my teeth with a tooth brush that tickled. I was positively delighted.
When we pulled into the sunny parking lot I, excited and naïve, opened my door, and willingly stepped to the asphalt. Willingly, I crossed the parking lot, willingly, followed the sidewalk to a set of big double doors, and willingly, sat down in the waiting area. I thought it it smelled unpleasantly clean, but was sure that all the fun I was about to have was worth it.
Soon, a door swung open, and a friendly looking lady leaned through. She was wearing a mask.
"Anna?" she peered from face to face, looking for me.
Mom quickly stood up, gathered her purse in one arm, me in the other, and said "That's you!" in a happy sort of voice. This was the moment that I first suspected foul play.
Uncertainly, I followed the nurse through the doorway while she said some overly pleasant things to Mom and me. She pointed us to one of the little rooms with big, gray chairs in them. "Squeaky clean" and "plastic-y" were the two scents that smacked my nose. The smell was way worse back here.
The nurse smiled as if she were bursting with a double portion of all radiant joyousness. "Hop up on the seat, okay?"
I felt sick. Sit in that? In my mind, these kinds of chairs belonged in hospitals where the sick and dying lay in misery. I wasn't sick, and certainly did not intend to die. There was no need for such drastic measures.
Really, I was embarrassed to sit in this big, surgical-looking thing - Mom might worry. Nonetheless, I obligingly lowered myself into it's ominous depths, scooting myself onto the leather seat that was big enough to hold three of me.
I struggled to look calm and business-like, but a thought was nagging in the back of my brain. Quite possibly, I mused, such a huge chair signified a need for one; I which case, I would be sick or dying fairly soon.
What had I gotten myself into?
Before long, the nurse was back, opening a packet of tools and putting them on a tray. She gave me a special bib to wear that felt absolutely ridiculous. She said it was held on with alligator clips - then she told me to open my mouth as if I were an alligator. I didn't say anything, but it always bothered me when people treated me as if I were a little girl. I was sure she didn't tell adults to "open wide like an alligator", and sure wished she wouldn't have said it to me.
I was patient, sitting there with my mouth stretched open, while she fiddled around with her shiny metal tools; scraping, picking, counting, looking, brushing, and rinsing until my jaws hurt. Then, she left me alone with Mom, saying I needed to have a couple teeth filled and she'd be right back with the Doctor.
Now, I had no idea what that meant, but Mom seemed to. In that sterile, foreign place, her voice sounded quiet and small. "Do you remember the Bible verse about being afraid?" I nodded. "Can you say it?" I swallowed the plastic taste in my mouth and replied, "When I am afraid I will trust in You." "Good...now if you get scared, just say that verse. Everything will be just fine, and if you're brave I'll get you a treat when we're all done." I smiled at her. It sounded good...
But then there were footsteps in the hallway...big, heavy ones. I was afraid to look.
I smelled it, right away. A white-coated, noisy-breathing, toothpaste-scented, masked mountain soared behind and above me - filling the doorway, the sky and everything, with it's sinister fear. His voice was big, his hands were big, he was big, and I didn't like him, no, not one little bit. Oh, and here was that deceitful nurse who tricked me into thinking the doctor would not be scary...how could she betray me like this?
They leaned the chair back, again - so far back that I was nearly upside-down, and brought down a big light so they could see better.
Mom reached for my hand, and I began quoting my Bible verse in sincere desperation. What was he doing to me?! "
"Now," he informed, in his big, booming, manly voice, "This will just be a little mosquito bite."
The world ground into terrified suspense. What?
Mosquito bite? Metal flashed in the light, and their two masked faces stared intensely into mine. A surge of panic coursed through me. That thing was bigger than any mosquito I'd ever seen. Cruelly sharp, deliberately firm, slowly bearing down... No store-bought present was worth this. I didn't care. I wanted to live.
Squirming away in desperation, tears trickling hotly down my cheeks, I begged mercy. "Please Mom, don't let them do this to me?!"
She had no choice: the doctor was afraid I'd twist away at the wrong moment and bring undue harm to myself. With that announcement, they gathered up their tools of torment, and set me free.
Feeling weak, (and a little guilty) I got out of the chair, and walked back through the building like an escaped death-row prisoner. The doors opened, and sunlight graced my shoulders once more. I felt the breeze, and sighed with shaky relief. No way was I ever going back in there.
But, actually, I was. After much coaxing and reassurance from Dad and Mom, I went back and faced my fear. I did get a shot, and I did live. That's how most scary things turn out: not half as bad as we think they'll be. If we pray and trust God, we don't need to be afraid. Everything will work out for our good.
Psalm 56:3
What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.
No comments:
Post a Comment