Learning to Show Up: Facing Dental Fear with Faith, Freak-outs, and a Little Sedation

 If you’ve known me for longer than five minutes, you probably know I have an anxiety disorder. Dental work has been one of my longest-standing fears, second only to misophonia. For years, I couldn’t even tolerate a conversation about teeth. But this post isn’t just about teeth. It’s about fear, shame, healing, and the quiet ways God delivers us— sometimes through prayer, sometimes through people, and sometimes through very strong sedation. If you’ve ever been afraid of something you should be able to handle, this story is for you. 

Ironically, as a small child, I had very positive experiences at the dentist. My brothers and I saw the same sweet hygienist every six months. She let me help with my brother's cleanings— handing her tools, polish, or fluoride paste. Sometimes, I even got to press the x-ray button. I enjoyed it so much that for a while, I thought I might grow up to be a dental hygienist myself.

I don’t remember my first filling, but I do remember how anxious I became. After every appointment I swore it would be my last. I was determined to take such good care of my teeth, I would never get another cavity. But no matter how hard I tried, it never seemed to be enough — I always needed another filling. 

Every appointment came with weeks of anticipatory dread.  The night before, I couldn’t sleep. The morning of, I couldn’t eat. I’d sit in the waiting room shaking and crying. Everyone in the office seemed to know who I was — probably because I was the only daughter in a family of seven. Still, I was convinced they remembered me because I was a difficult patient.

The dentist was always a kind and gentle man, and his assistant couldn’t have been any sweeter. I, however, was too anxious to sit still. Once, they warned me that if I couldn’t stay in the chair, I’d be sent to a pediatric dentist — where they could restrain me if necessary and my mom wouldn’t be allowed to stay with me. After that, I did my best to cooperate. They tried nitrous once, but the mask made me panic and I blacked out. Another time the anesthesia didn’t fully numb me. I felt the heat and pain from the drill. That was yet another experience to add to my ever-growing list of reasons to be terrified. 

By that time, I didn’t want to be a dental hygienist anymore. I didn’t even want to help with my brothers cleanings. Driving past the clinic on a normal day was enough to send my heart rate soaring. By the time I turned 18, I decided I was done. Nobody could force me into the chair. 

I skipped the dentist all through college, even as I felt cavities forming. I was too afraid to face it, and too ashamed to talk about it. I knew it was irrational, but that didn’t make it easier to control. 

When Dane and I got engaged in 2022, we promised to take the best care of ourselves — for each other. He never pressured me, but I took that promise seriously. 

Then my mouth started hurting. At first, I didn’t say anything, not even to Dane. But the pressure and pain got worse. I did what I often do when I panic: research. Eventually, I realized my wisdom teeth were the problem. They didn’t fit, and I certainly couldn’t pull them out myself. 

Sedation dentistry didn’t seem like a common option, at first it seemed that I would have to drive to Atlanta to find one. But after some Googling, I found a dentist in my city with great reviews and some anxiety management options. I couldn’t bring myself to call, so Dane and I went to set up an appointment in person. That was my first time in a dental office in seven years. They were kind. They listened. The x-rays confirmed my fears: all four wisdom teeth were impacted, and I needed two root canals. I sobbed. 

The dentist explained that these procedures were beyond what he felt comfortable doing, both because of the complexity of the impactions and the limitations of the sedation he could provide. He referred me to an oral surgeon he trusted, and recommended I have all six problem teeth removed. He hoped that would be less traumatic for me than root canals. He prescribed antibiotics to keep things under control while I waited. When I met Dr. Kragor, the surgeon, I was already crying. He gently asked me if I was in pain or just scared. I told him the truth. He carefully explained the surgery and reassured me: while it was understandably scary for me, he wasn’t nervous at all. His confidence helped me feel a little more at ease.

My surgery was set for March 23, 2023. Dr. Kragor was kind enough to prescribe me an anti-anxiety to “get me through the door.” I was terrified — but that morning, I felt peace I can only credit to God. I even sang in the car on the way to my appointment. 

I remember getting into the chair and having my IV put in. Then Dr. Kragor injected a syringe of magic into the IV bag — and that was it. I don’t even remember Dane kissing me goodbye. Six teeth were removed — my wisdom teeth and two molars. The recovery went better than I expected. Dr. Kragor even called to check on me that night. 

After that, I still didn’t go back to the dentist for cleanings or fillings — partly because of dental insurance, and partly because of fear. The dentist who took my x-rays could have offered some oral sedation, but if there was any chance I would remember the procedure, I didn’t want it. So, I simply didn’t go. Then one of my closest friends, also anxious at the dentist, shared how Psalm 34:4 gave her courage: “I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.” Her faith inspired me to try again. 

Since I already knew I had cavities, I had to find a dentist who was willing to knock me out for the fillings. I did more research and found a new dentist –- Dr. Drescher — who offered IV sedation. I made the appointment. In December, I went to my first dental cleaning in eight years. Dane came with me, of course. I was honest with my new hygienist about my fears. She was so kind and understanding. She reminded me so much of my hygienist from childhood. Dr. Drescher was kind, gentle, and didn’t rush anything. The cavities were still there, but he wasn’t worried. He said if it were his mouth, he’d just keep an eye on them.

Walking out of that appointment with no immediate plans for dental work was one of the happiest moments of my life. 

In June, I went back alone. A huge step. I told them about a cracked filling, and we made a plan: A crown and a few fillings under twilight sedation. I wasn’t excited, but I didn’t want it to become a bigger, scarier issue. 

The procedure was July 13th. I wasn’t very nervous until the night before —practically a miracle. Another miracle? I actually slept that night. In the morning, I told Dr. Drescher I was
terrified. He smiled and said, “You can do this,” and assured me, “You won’t remember a thing.” He was right.

I don’t remember most of the morning, much less the dental work. I don’t remember being helped to the car, or exclaiming, “Hey, that’s my husband!” upon seeing Dane the first time. I don’t even remember getting Dairy Queen on the way home. Dane said I kept forgetting to chew my ice cream and apologized, saying, “Sorry I forgot to chew, I was thinking about VeggieTales for some reason.” (Make of that what you will.)

I’m still scared of the dentist. I probably always will be. But that fear doesn’t control me anymore. I’ve cried in waiting rooms, prayed through panic, and said yes to help when I didn’t feel brave. Healing didn’t happen all at once —
it came in steps, in sedation, in kind voices, and in God’s quiet mercy. This season of my life has been one of deliverance, and even though it’s been hard, I’m deeply grateful. I may never love dental work, but I’m learning to show up anyway. And that is a miracle in my book.