SHEsaysWITHaSMILE.blogspot.com

MOUTH FULL OF SILVER by (me!) sandra, tvgp

the thing that stands out, is dr. allen's face. the way he looked at me, and i could cry just thinking about it

he'd been my dentist for many years, and i'm not sure on this, but i believe i went from infancy to age 18 with a total of 3 or 4 cavities; maybe less

and i knew in advance it wasn't going to be good, i knew it wasn't going to be good, because my mouth felt so awful. my teeth ached everyday and when i jogged or ran short distances, it felt like they might all fall out; not normal for 19 years of age

dr. allen was -who knows- in his 40's at the time. everyone's favorite dentist.. gregarious, funny, full of personality. up until this day he had always joked and innocently flirted with me

and on this day, BEFORE he xrayed my mouth, he said something like, "when i saw your name in the appointment book.. made it a good day to come to work. see how i dressed up for you"

and then he'd laugh because he was wearing the same white coat he always wore. "you're my favorite patient, sandy"

and i thought maybe i really was, if for no other reason than i laughed so easily and readily at his every joke. -and don't you know how awful it is

how awful it is to let down the people you've come to love. i could hear him from the other room,

"my God!, what happen?!? -what happen?!?" -and then he reentered the room where i sat, reclined in terror

"what happen sandy? ... you have 20 cavities! 20!!"

and the only excuse i could improv at the time was, "i quit smoking.. switched to lifesavers and gum. i've been chewing gum non-stop"

i did know he might be checking me for signs of anorexia/bulimia.. but i also knew i showed absolutely no signs.. no signs of making myself vomit, no signs of dramatic weight loss or gain. no scratches inside my mouth on my gums, no bulging, strained eyes

"sandy," he told me, with such a look of disappointment, bewilderment, shock, confusion, "even if you chewed 12 packs of sugar gum a day it would not result in 20 cavities, this doesn't make sense"

but i stuck to my story and made several appointments; having 2 or 3 cavities filled at a time, until all 20 teeth were embarrassed with silver.

and he was not out to humiliate me, so each time i returned we skipped any conversation about how this happened and stuck with light-hearted jokes.

"you might want to start smoking again," he said once, -and i think that helped me to laugh again.

how i ended up with 20 cavities in one year, is a difficult story to share. they are memories i'm very careful about visiting, and what has triggered this out of me at 2:43 a.m. post historical inauguration day is anybody's guess

but i honor these things as they come

told out of the greater context of my life, this will sound crazy/sad/gross, but, put into context, as is true with almost every human life; it all makes sense.

how i ended up with 20 cavities in one year involves spending hundreds of dollars at the local hostess discount bakery

everyday, $3 to $5 dollars on cupcakes, donuts, candybars. at the regular grocery store $3-$5 might not yield much, but at the local hostess discount bakery, and especially if you hit the "day old" discount bin

i could walk out with a brown bag overflowing with junk. -hours worth of junk food.

i went several times a week to the local hostess discount bakery store. -i made up stories in my mind, of how the gray haired ladies at the register explained my ongoing purchases amongst themselves

they never asked me. but in case they ever did, i had it all planned out that i would say i bought and resold the junk food to the high school kids for extra income.

and even though they never asked, and even though i had a good story up my sleeves, still i became quite self-conscious about making so many trips, so many purchases at this local hostess discount bakery store

so i started to wear disguises. husband's shirt, hat, sunglasses one day; school girl dress and sunglasses the next day; sweats, sunglasses and even a changed voice at the register the next.

but i knew they knew, and they knew they knew, but, just like with dr. allen, everyone seemed to know not to ask or talk about it.

i'd always panic on my drive home. terrified i'd get in a car accident, and have to explain the brown bags filled with junk food to the police officers and my husband

it was an exhausting effort to keep this all secret, but i did. my entire life was consumed with planning my disguises and trips to the bakery, hiding the junk food, -and then waiting, impatiently, for time alone.

always waiting for friends and family to LEAVE. for my husband to LEAVE for work. always preoccupied with finding ways and time to be alone with my big bags of junk food.

and when at last i was alone; the swishing ritual began:

the largest plastic cup in the house in my lap. the bag of junk food by my side. and one by one, cupcake by cupcake, candybar by candybar, donut by donut

i chewed but never swallowed. would take bites, and swish the food in my mouth until it liquified and then spit it out into a giant plastic cup. when the cup was full, i'd walk over to the sink, pour it down the garbage disposal, go back to my seat and start again

until every last junk food was gone. then i'd take all the garbage, and walk blocks away to place the wrappers and brown bag where no one would find it; in someone else's garbage can.

a bizarre ritual indeed. -a non-addictive addiction- because my whole life revolved around the shopping, the hiding, waiting to be alone, the swishing, the hiding and the waiting again

to be alone. do it again.

there was something so calming, numbing about this swishing ritual. a trance i entered.


my shame grew with every trip to the bakery; every swishing ceremony; every time i hid the wrappers. my shame grew so large that when i'd go to the sink to pour the liquified contents down the garbage disposal, i'd stay there a moment trying to figure out how i could go down with it

wanted to just climb in the garbage disposal, turn the switch, and disappear.

but instead i swished some more.

and i will never forget getting caught by my husband. -how he left for work.. and i got straight to swishing.. the big bag of junk food to the side of the chair, the giant plastic cup in my lap, my hands unwrapping a six pack of donuts

and in walks my husband. -pretending he forgot his keys. -or wallet. i can't remember.

but i do remember his face. the shock.

"what are you doing?!?" -and not with compassion, not with compassion

but with embarrassment, shame, humiliation, disappointment, anger, he tells me

"you have a disease!"

and he didn't want anyone to know about my disease. -and that's when i knew all the shame i felt was justified.

i was a monster. an ugly monster with a disease. an ugly monster with a disease and 20 cavities.

and i felt that way for a long, long, long, time.

it would be years before i saw this with compassionate eyes.. before i said to myself, before i realized, before i let in

that perhaps my swishing ritual was not a disease, but a symptom. -a strange symptom of post traumatic stress disorder

because when i put it in context.. when i repeat in my mind: kidnap/rape; alcoholic step father; gangs; kidnap/rape; robbery; kidnap/rape -the violence, the guns, the life or death tragedies back to back to back

and allow myself to process the multiple traumas i survived. it makes perfect sense to me, anyway,

that i might try and escape and anesthetize myself any way that worked.

and once i let that in.. once i had the ability to see my behavior with compassion and not shame, a tiny little piece of my self-esteem returned. -a pebble. -a grain of sand.

a mouth full of silver and a grain of sand.

which as it turns out, -gave me something to work with.

posted by SHE @ 9:46 AM