The Perfect Patient

I used to try so hard to be the perfect patient. Like if I could just figure out how to be exactly what they need me to be I am winning. I will be the most still. I will do everything right. In this moment I will be perfect and they will like me.

At the dentist I would stay so still. Keep my mouth wide wide open and never wiggle. Answer all the questions, laugh at all the jokes. You’ve got great teeth! they would say. Good enamel. I’d never felt so proud.

There is something about the doctors office, the dentist chair. A laboratory. The white coats and the background music. The quiet authority. The formality and the repetition. The controlled attention focused just on me and no one else. The careful delivery of care, the way they explained everything before they did it.

It was something specific that was needed and I knew what it was. I could do it and I was good at it and they praised me for doing such a great job. The lollipops and the praise were heady stuff. Not a lot of sugar and positive reinforcement at my house. No way to get it right. No clear parameters. No established path to success.

My whole life I was the perfect patient. Until I wasn’t. Couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t hear them. Everything was too much. I stopped being able to try so hard. I couldn’t control the wiggling. I literally could not sit still for that long. I tried to ignore it. Tried to muscle through. But the obedient girl was gone.

It didn’t matter how hard I tried. I couldn’t muscle through. The wiggles won. I felt I had failed and the worst part was they looked at me like I was crazy. Like I had betrayed the sacred doctors office trust. Like I wasn’t special now. I was just normal. Just like everyone else.

I found a new dentist. One that has a special room for people who get overwhelmed by too much input. One that understands. I remember the first time someone asked me if I was ok. They noticed that I’d stopped being able to take in the sights and asked if I wanted to go home. I really did. No one had ever noticed before. Or if they did they didn’t mention it.

It felt nice to have someone notice I was on overwhelm. To have them ask if I wanted to stop and go home. It’s hard to admit I’m not the perfect patient. But the praise was never for me. Not the real me. It was for the performance. For the persona. The mask went to the dentist. I stayed home.