Horror in Sugarhouse

It was a typical storefront building attached to similar buildings in downtown Sugarhouse. Unlike the adjacent retail businesses, the display window of this building was covered with curtains that concealed the torture going on within. On the window, in glimmering gold letters outlined in black, were the words "Lorin L. Richards, DDS. Those words brought sheer panic to me as a young girl. Let me give you a little background.

Although money was always scarce at my house, my parents insisted that we children receive regular dental care. That just seems like normal health care by today's standards, but for us with limited finances, it was a luxury. My parents were influenced to indulge in this "luxury" by the fact that both of them had genetic dental problems that resulted in their having to have full dentures in their early thirties. They hoped that frequent exams and care would lessen the likelihood of similar problems in their children. (It didn't help me too much as I had to have upper dentures in my early thirties and lower ones in my fifties.) The problem was not only soft enamel that resulted in frequent cavities, but fissures that developed in the teeth causing pieces to break off. Today the treatment would be to just cap the teeth as early as possible at a cost of about $1,000 per tooth. That became available later on in my life, but my teeth were too far gone by then, and besides, we could never have afforded it.

So when I was about five years old I began going to the dentist. I never remember my dentist, Dr. Richards, smiling...not once. And all the equipment that surrounded him were to me instruments of pure torture. Compared to those used by dentists today, that's exactly what they were. The drills were operated by a series fine cables around discs that resembled pulleys. There were no sprays of cool water at the end of the drill so the drill would get hot causing more pain. There was no suction hose to drain water and saliva from your mouth, so rolls of cotton were stuffed against the salivary gland to soak up saliva. And to wash the ground up material from your mouth, the dentist would use a little water hose to spray your mouth, and then you would have to spit it out into a little basin by the side of you. There were no dental assistants. The dentist did everything by himself.

Even though we went to the dentist every six months most of the time, the least amount of cavities I ever remember having was four. It was usually six to eight. The pain of having those cavities filled was pure torture to me. Yes, novocaine had just been introduced to deaden pain, but my dad wouldn't let us have it. His reasoning was, "I don't want to make babies out of my girls". I don't want you to believe that my dad was sadistic. I honestly believe he felt that he was helping us to be able to deal with pain in our lives. I certainly don't agree with that philosophy. I believe that there is enough pain in this life which we can't avoid. So if there is some way we can eliminate it, I'm all for it! The only thing having this avoidable pain did for me was to make going to the dentist the most traumatic thing I have ever dealt with. We often had to go alone as appointments weren't always available on Saturdays when my dad could take us. I can remember staying awake most of the night before having an appointment and finding it hard to concentrate in school the day of. While sitting on the bus on the way (by myself) I found myself hoping it would break down or that the dentist, somehow, wouldn't be there. That never happened. Then when I arrived, there was that dreaded question the dentist would ask before beginning his work, "Do you want novocaine?" to which I would obediently answer,"No". Even though in my adult years I had the benefit of updated equipment all different kinds of "deadening", anesthesia, and even hypnosis (I think I tried them all) and sympathetic dentists, I never got over the trauma of going to the dentist. You know, dentures aren't that bad!