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Another True Dental Gas Story free porn video
Story by: rubberapronboy
It was another sunny day in Springtime, and exactly two weeks to the day on which I had undergone my first Dental Gas anaesthetic for the extraction of two teeth. It had been a horrible and traumatic experience. The aftermath of the anaesthetic, and the pain from the holes in my gum where the teeth had been was made worse by the knowledge that I had to endure another Gas Session at the same clinic for a second round of extractions. Today was the day of my second appointment and I was feeling dreadful - literally sick with apprehension. True, my mouth had healed up well enough from the first set of extractions under Gas, but the same could scarcely be said for my emotional scars, namely my recently inspired dread of dentists in general and Gas anaesthesia in particular. I knew with certainty what kind of ordeal lay in store for me beyond the blue-painted door of the dental surgery. I remembered in vivid detail the brown rubber apron that I had to wear, the smell of the suffocating black rubber mask on my face and the ghastly sensations produced by breathing the Gas. Finally there was the the pain of the actual extractions. Both my mother and the nurse in the recovery room had disagreed with me on the last point. I had had Gas Hadn't I? Everyone knew that it didn't hurt to have a tooth out under Gas. I had clearly `imagined' the pain. Having been the patient in the chair I had begged to differ, but no one was prepared to believe a small boy who was clearly anxious to avoid another encounter with the dentist. I was therefore terrified of returning to the clinic for a second visit, and had spent the intervening two weeks brooding on the ordeal ahead of me and making constant, unsuccessful appeals to my parents to cancel my impending G.A. appointment.
That morning I had quite literally been dragged from my home to the clinic by my mother. Then, after unsuccessfully trying every avoidance tactic and delaying strategy known to a five-year-old boy, I had found myself sitting on a worn and wobbly metal chair in the all-to-familiar dental waiting room. Just like my initial appointment, I found myself surrounded by anxious mothers and their c***dren. This time however, one thing was different - the room was full to bursting. All the chairs in the room were occupied, and several mothers with very young c***dren had resorted to holding them on their lap in order to make some chairs available to new arrivals. In retrospect, the explanation was straightforward. On my previous appointment, my name had been added to the end of the appointment list at short notice as an urgent case, and I had therefore been given an appointment towards the end of the following mornings `gas' session when most of the patients had been treated. As my appointment for my second set of extractions had been booked a full two weeks earlier, I was one of the first patients on the list to be seen that day. My appointment time had therefore coincided with the start of that weeks `Gas Session'. A lot of parents had brought their c***dren along early to be sure of keeping their appointments, and as the gassing "production line" was not yet rolling, there was a `log-jam' of patients in the waiting room. I tried to stifle my rising panic by watching the other c***dren in the waiting room. There was one boy who looked a year or two older than me who seemed quite unconcerned. He was calmly making rubbings of coins using a pad of paper and a pencil. "Look" said my mother, pointing him out to me. "He's not afraid". But was he `Having Gas'? Did he know what awaited him on the other side of the blue surgery door? Some of the other c***dren were ashen-faced and sat wide-eyed, alternately hugging their mothers and eyeing the door leading to the corridor. I copied them.
There was another event at the start of a `Gas Session' at the clinic that I had missed two weeks earlier, due to the timing of my initial appointment. Suddenly the door of the waiting room swung open, and in walked the ginger-haired dentist who had traumatically gassed me previously. He was wearing the white coat that I remembered, and was holding a black rubber anaesthetic mask in his hand. Conversation in the room stopped dead. What felt like a hollow pit suddenly opened up in my stomach, and I remember burying my face in my mother's side in sick terror. After a moment he held up the mask and spoke in what he must have thought a cheerful and reassuring voice. "Hello c***dren - there's nothing to be afraid of. When I put my mask on your face, just breathe in and out deeply, and before you know it you will be waking up with your bad tooth gone, and it will be all over". And with that he turned about and was gone through the door. Conversation in the waiting room re-started very slowly.
A few minutes later, the door opened again, and a nurse came in holding a yellow appointment card and called the name of the first patient. It was the boy who was busy with a paper pad, pencil and coins. His mother took these items from him, and then speaking softly, pointed him towards the door. He went out quietly, all alone, and was led away by the nurse who held his hand. As soon as the waiting room door closed I became very curious about what was happening to him in the nearby surgery. I strained my ears to see if I could hear anything through the waiting room door. It was difficult to hear much over the hub-bub of conversation in the room, but I heard a door open, the sound of a womens voice, and then the door closing again. Then there was silence for a while, punctuated by footsteps in the corridor, and after that I thought that I could just make out the sound of a distant mans voice, which went droning on for a while. Then came what sounded like a long muffled grunt - the distant voice droned some more - and then more silence.
A minute or so later I heard a short series of soft bumps, followed by the sound of people walking about, and then quite suddenly there was faint but very distinct crying. Conversation in the waiting room flagged noticably at this point, and it became easier to hear what was happening outside. Then the waiting room door opened to admit a whiff of a sweet smell reminiscent of a dry cleaning shop and the boy's mother was called outside by the nurse. Almost at once I heard another door open, and then came the sound of retching and strident crying which rapidly faded away down the corridor.
I sat in my chair in the waiting room feeling numb with fear. The sounds and smells that had reached me from the corridor outside had sharply reminded me of my own horrific experience of two weeks previously. There had been the sickening chemical smell of the Gas, followed by the evident distress of what must have been the boy who had left the waiting room only minutes before. Suddenly, I had a vivid recollection of the ginger-haired dentist standing beside the chair in the surgery, holding the hissing black rubber mask, bringing it closer and closer towards my face . . . .
And then the waiting room door opened. A nurse came in. The same nurse who two weeks ago had taken off my coat in the surgery, who had held my hands so tightly while I was breathing the Gas. She had a yellow appointment card in her hand, and she called out my name. My mother tried to take my hand to lead me to the surgery, but knowing what must be about to happen I burst into tears. Then I clamped both hands over my face to shield my nose and mouth from the mask I knew was waiting for me. My mother picked me up from my seat and without a word carried me out through the waiting room door, out into the corridor and across to the blue-painted door of the dental surgery.
I was carried sobbing into the surgery by my mother, still clutching my hands over my nose and mouth, and set down behind the chair. I looked around and saw the dentist, the nurses and (of course!) the gas machine with its black breathing bag and the rubber mask hanging on the hook at the front. Everything was ready for me. Everything was exactly as I remembered it from my initial appointment two weeks previously, right down to the pungent lingering chemical smell of the Gas in the room. I was rooted to the spot by the rush of horrific memories. Then one of the nurses advanced towards me holding out a brown rubber apron in her hands. That was the final confirmation of what was in store for me - and I flipped. I made a desperate dash for the door. I didn't make it. The two nurses cornered me, and then screaming at the top of my voice with my arms and legs thrashing wildly, I was half dragged - half carried back to the chair. As this was happening, the surgery door opened and a blue-uniformed senior nurse hurried in to see what the commotion was about. She tut-tutted at my struggling and screaming and proceded to help the others lift me into the chair and hold me down.
Next there was a sibilent hiss of gas from the direction of the anaesthetic trolley, and then the dentist appeared beside the chair holding the dreaded black rubber mask. Hissing and trailing its sinister black corrugated tube, it looked and sounded every bit like a venomous snake poised to strike at my nose and mouth. Again and again it darted at my face as I struggled with the nurses in the chair, and each time it came towards me I writhed and twisted my head away, only just managing to keep my features out of its gassy embrace. I fought to the limit of my strength to escape, but with four adults holding me down it was just a matter of how long I could hold out. All of this time I was screaming for my mother and begging the nurses to let me go, but to no avail. Finally, in an effort co-ordinated by the dentist, the senior nurse gripped my hands whilst the other two nurses each grasped one of my legs. Holding my legs rigid by locking my knee joints, they pushed on the soles of my feet and slid me back until my bottom was firmly wedged in the angle of the chair. Then the latex-gloved hand of the dentist seized my chin from behind and firmly pulled my head back into the head-rest. I was finally trapped.
Someone d****d a towel around my chest (a precaution, I later learned, against vomiting during the induction), and then as if in slow-motion the hissing black mask appeared before my face and hovered a hands-breadth away from my nose and mouth. In a blind panic I tried to turn my head away, but the dentist held my chin in a vice-like grip. Sweet chemically-laden gas blew from the mask and fanned my face. "Just Relax And Breathe Deeply" said the dentist, "Before You Know It Your Tooth Will Be Out And It'll All Be Over". My screaming stopped abruptly as I seized a huge gulp of gas-tainted air and held my breath. Then the mask descended, and made a perfect airtight seal around my nose and mouth. I felt two fingers of the hand holding the mask slide under my chin to support my jaw, and then the hand gripping my chin relaxed and moved away. Even then I could scarcely move my head. The sickening cocktail of chemicals, gas and rubber, so familiar to me from my previous appointment invaded my nostrils. I sat in the chair rigid with fear, much as a rabbit freezes in the headlights of an oncoming car. Looking out in mute desperation over the top of the mask, I watched in horrified fascination as the black rubber breathing bag on front of the the gas trolley slowly began to inflate with the first load of gas destined for my lungs.
I was already breathless from struggling, and holding my breath soon became impossible. Gritting my teeth, I exhaled as slowly as possible, using the stale air in my lungs to blow away the smell inside the mask, putting off second-by-second the rapidly approaching moment when I would be forced to begin breathing the Gas. The breathing bag fluttered and the mask hissed softly as I exhaled in short spurts, repeatedly clearing the sickly smell from the mask until all the air in my lungs was exhausted. Then the cloying sweet smell returned to flood the mask and fill my nostrils, and I knew that the dreaded moment had come.
"Breathe . . . " said the dentist, echoing my thoughts. I was beside myself with fright but simply couldn't hold my breath out a second longer. My chest heaved, and a huge gulp of rubbery Gas rushed down my throat and filled my empty lungs. The breathing bag on the Gas trolley sharply deflated. "Good Boy" murmured one of the nurses holding me down. I shuddered at the smell, and blew the pungent lungful back into the mask with a muffled sob. Having Gas was going to be every bit as horrible as the last time.
"And Again - Breathe . . . " I screamed and sobbed into the mask, and my muffled cries resonated in the corrugated tubing until I ran out of breath and had to take another gulp of pungent Gas. The dentist calmly adjusted the flowmeters on the anaesthetic trolley, checking that the flow of gas into the breathing circuit was slow; steady; adequate.
"Breathe Deeply . . . " Still I struggled in the chair, fighting to free my hands from the grip of the nurse and writhing in an attempt to dislodge the black smothering mask from my face. My breath came in short staccato gasps as I alternately held my breath against the pungent Gas and then succombed to a desperate urge to breathe. I can remember staring over the cuff of the mask and seeing the breathing bag on the trolley twitching in response to my ragged breathing.
I felt as though I was suffocating. I had to take a deep breath. Even if it was a breath of Gas. Just the one. Then maybe I would be able to hold my breath again. My gaze followed the corrugated black rubber tube running from the mask to the gas trolley. I looked at the black rubber breathing bag, gritted my teeth, and grimly inhaled. I shuddered as the sweet chemical-scented Gas charged down my throat in what seemed like a never-ending torrent. The breathing bag deflated in response to my reluctant deep breath, and then the mask hissed softly as I started to breath out. Quite suddenly my arms and legs felt very cold and I became aware of my pulse racing in my ears.
"Breathe . . . " droned the disembodied voice of the dentist. Distracted by the odd sensation I forgot about holding my breath and took another big gulp of Gas from the mask. The sudden chill in my limbs erupted into tingling pins and needles. Another breath, and the tingling sensation travelled up my limbs to my chest. Yet another breath, and it swept onwards to my head which then began to buzz in sympathy with my body. I gulped several more quick deep breaths from the mask as rapidly as my lungs would let me, desperately trying to shorten my ordeal. "Don't Try To Rush It . . " echoed the voice of the dentist in my ears, "Breathe Through Your Nose . . .". Suddenly, my limbs felt as heavy as lead, and my body seemed to be pressed into the padding of the dentist's chair as if by an enormous unseen hand.
Then I remember staring fixedly over the cuff of the mask, and through a mist of Gas and tears, focussing on the black rubber breathing bag on the Gas trolley. It was rhythmically filling and then emptying; filling and emptying; responding to my breathing; registering the Gas as it flowed into and then out of my lungs. Dimly I realised that it had become too difficult to control my breathing and that my body, which now seemed like a separate entity, was breathing automatically on my behalf. "Going To sleep Now . . . " said the disembodied voice of the dentist, which reverberated as if in a long tunnel. His hand was doing something near the bottle of blue liquid at the back of the Gas trolley, but I could no longer move my eyes to see what.
My struggle was nearly over. I was no longer holding my breath or fighting the nurses. Sitting motionless in the chair with the black rubber mask held snugly over my nose and mouth, I breathed the Gas calmly, deeply and quietly. As I breathed in, the breathing bag slowly contracted and I felt the cool pungent Gas stream deep into my lungs. As I breathed out, the bag quickly expanded, then bulged, and then the mask would hiss softly. Gradually the tingling and buzzing sensation in my head and body became more and more intense and my eyelids heavier and heavier. Then a new world started to open up before me. A strange world of red mists filled with buzzing and pulsating stars, where the only things that mattered were my breathing and the smell and taste of the Gas. I felt myself take another big deep breath from the mask, then my eyes slowly closed and the buzzing stars drew me gently into their midst.
And then I was floating in a red star-speckled mist that suffused my entire being with an intense tingling buzz. The sound of my deep relaxed breathing, the sibilent hissing of the Gas trolley and the rhythmic `Pssssst' sound the mask was making filled my entire universe. Then with each breath, the chemical smell in the Gas mixture that I was breathing became stronger and Stronger and STRONGER!
And then I suddenly realised that my eyes were wide open and I was staring at the ceiling light above the chair in the surgery. Everything seemed dark and indistinct. There was an awful ache in my jaw, and a chemical and salty taste in my mouth. I felt very sick and woozy and as soon as I remembered where I was and what was happening to me, I thrashed wildly in the chair, screaming for my mother. Blurred faces of the nurses appeared and hovered over me. "Its All Over" and "Your Tooth Is Out" they chorused.
Then the head and shoulders of another nurse appeared in my field of view, and leaned over the side of the chair. She was wearing a brown rubber bib apron over her white uniform, and I recall thinking at first that she might be at the dentist to have Gas too. But without a word she bent over me, scooped my out of the chair and into her arms. Then she carried me, sobbing, head cradled against the bib of her apron, out through the blue-painted door of the surgery and into the cool fresh air of the corridor.
We got to the door of the recovery room, and I remember staring fixedly at the ceiling as I was carried inside, either unable or unwilling to move my head. There was a sour smell of vomit and the sound of another c***d crying as I was carried into the room, neither of which did anything to improve how I was feeling. My mother sat on a chair, the nurse lowered me on to her lap where she held me while I started to recover. I felt dreadful, and unlike my first gassing, I had an appalling chemical taste in my mouth that just would not go away. Gradually I became more aware of my surroundings. Then I remember smelling rubber, looking down towards my feet, and realising that I was now wearing a brown rubber apron. It was just like the ones I sometimes wore at school, and the one I had worn during me first dental Gas experience two weeks earlier. It felt comforting and snug around my body, and the soft smell of the brown rubber was in a strange way comforting after the recent horrors of the black rubber mask. How I came to be wearing it I did not know, and supposed I had it put on me while I was asleep from the Gas.
The nurse who was wearing a rubber apron was by then bustling around at the far end of the room where the crying was coming from. Distrought and disoriented as I was, I managed to turn my head to see what she was doing. At the end of the room, lying on a red plastic couch and wearing a brown rubber apron just like the one I had on, was the boy who had been making pencil rubbings of coins. He looked ashen-faced, and was lying on his side with a soiled towel under his face. His shoes had been taken off and were piled on the floor beside the couch together with his pad of paper, pencil box and the bag his mother had been carrying. He was sobbing quietly whilst being watched by the nurse and comforted by his mother, alternately spitting blood and retching into a shiny metal bowl being held in front of his pale face.
I am not sure how long I sat on my mothers lap recovering from the gas. It took rather longer than after my first gassing. (In retrospect I didn't feel my tooth being pulled out the second time, and so I could have been given a stronger dose of volatile anaesthetic. That may also have accounted for the chemical aftertaste that I experienced). Eventually I could stand unaided, and then I was given a plastic beaker of pink mouthwash that I had to rinse out with standing over a sink, and spit the rinsings back into the beaker - not into the sink. I soon coloured the beaker contents red with my blood. Then my brown rubber apron was removed by the nurse. As she did so, I noticed that the inside surface of the apron was damp with perspiration - just like after my first gassing. I walked unsteadily towards the exit supported by my mother. As we passed through the reception area, the blue-uniformed senior nurse who had helped restrain me while I was gassed in the surgery bustled over to us. "Fancy Making Such A Fuss Over A Little Thing Like That" she scolded me.
Epilogue.
So ends the story of my second dental gas anaesthetic. Thankfully, I had no further encounters with the black rubber mask for another five or six years, until I broke one of my few remaining milk teeth (but that is yet another story). After that I had no further dental problems at all and managed to avoid dentists until I reached adulthood. Then of course, I had the option of refusing any proposed treatment (or anaesthetic), and then much of the fear evaporated. This coincided with the decline of Dental General Anaesthesia in a surgery setting in the UK. In fact the dentist who did the comprehensive treatment plan at the end of my prolonged period of self-imposed dental abstinance had no G.A. equipment of any kind in the surgery. And so the dreaded self-posed question, `Will I have to have gas?', that had haunted me throughout c***dhood never arose again.
So there you have it. My second Gas story, or at least as much as I remember. Like others in this community, my experiences in the dentist's chair gave rise to a fascination with Gas anaesthesia and, of course, with rubber aprons. In fact, I am wearing a rubber apron (and nothing else!) right now, as I conclude this writing this account. It's a traditional brown rubber bib apron with metal eyelets and waist ties. It's adult-sized, but otherwise identical to the one that I wore when I first had gas at the dental clinic. Its cool snugness about my body and its soft rubbery smell are as comforting as ever, and whenever I take a deep breath, I can feel the bib give my chest a comforting hug. It certainly brings back memories!
It was another sunny day in Springtime, and exactly two weeks to the day on which I had undergone my first Dental Gas anaesthetic for the extraction of two teeth. It had been a horrible and traumatic experience. The aftermath of the anaesthetic, and the pain from the holes in my gum where the teeth had been was made worse by the knowledge that I had to endure another Gas Session at the same clinic for a second round of extractions. Today was the day of my second appointment and I was feeling dreadful - literally sick with apprehension. True, my mouth had healed up well enough from the first set of extractions under Gas, but the same could scarcely be said for my emotional scars, namely my recently inspired dread of dentists in general and Gas anaesthesia in particular. I knew with certainty what kind of ordeal lay in store for me beyond the blue-painted door of the dental surgery. I remembered in vivid detail the brown rubber apron that I had to wear, the smell of the suffocating black rubber mask on my face and the ghastly sensations produced by breathing the Gas. Finally there was the the pain of the actual extractions. Both my mother and the nurse in the recovery room had disagreed with me on the last point. I had had Gas Hadn't I? Everyone knew that it didn't hurt to have a tooth out under Gas. I had clearly `imagined' the pain. Having been the patient in the chair I had begged to differ, but no one was prepared to believe a small boy who was clearly anxious to avoid another encounter with the dentist. I was therefore terrified of returning to the clinic for a second visit, and had spent the intervening two weeks brooding on the ordeal ahead of me and making constant, unsuccessful appeals to my parents to cancel my impending G.A. appointment.
That morning I had quite literally been dragged from my home to the clinic by my mother. Then, after unsuccessfully trying every avoidance tactic and delaying strategy known to a five-year-old boy, I had found myself sitting on a worn and wobbly metal chair in the all-to-familiar dental waiting room. Just like my initial appointment, I found myself surrounded by anxious mothers and their c***dren. This time however, one thing was different - the room was full to bursting. All the chairs in the room were occupied, and several mothers with very young c***dren had resorted to holding them on their lap in order to make some chairs available to new arrivals. In retrospect, the explanation was straightforward. On my previous appointment, my name had been added to the end of the appointment list at short notice as an urgent case, and I had therefore been given an appointment towards the end of the following mornings `gas' session when most of the patients had been treated. As my appointment for my second set of extractions had been booked a full two weeks earlier, I was one of the first patients on the list to be seen that day. My appointment time had therefore coincided with the start of that weeks `Gas Session'. A lot of parents had brought their c***dren along early to be sure of keeping their appointments, and as the gassing "production line" was not yet rolling, there was a `log-jam' of patients in the waiting room. I tried to stifle my rising panic by watching the other c***dren in the waiting room. There was one boy who looked a year or two older than me who seemed quite unconcerned. He was calmly making rubbings of coins using a pad of paper and a pencil. "Look" said my mother, pointing him out to me. "He's not afraid". But was he `Having Gas'? Did he know what awaited him on the other side of the blue surgery door? Some of the other c***dren were ashen-faced and sat wide-eyed, alternately hugging their mothers and eyeing the door leading to the corridor. I copied them.
There was another event at the start of a `Gas Session' at the clinic that I had missed two weeks earlier, due to the timing of my initial appointment. Suddenly the door of the waiting room swung open, and in walked the ginger-haired dentist who had traumatically gassed me previously. He was wearing the white coat that I remembered, and was holding a black rubber anaesthetic mask in his hand. Conversation in the room stopped dead. What felt like a hollow pit suddenly opened up in my stomach, and I remember burying my face in my mother's side in sick terror. After a moment he held up the mask and spoke in what he must have thought a cheerful and reassuring voice. "Hello c***dren - there's nothing to be afraid of. When I put my mask on your face, just breathe in and out deeply, and before you know it you will be waking up with your bad tooth gone, and it will be all over". And with that he turned about and was gone through the door. Conversation in the waiting room re-started very slowly.
A few minutes later, the door opened again, and a nurse came in holding a yellow appointment card and called the name of the first patient. It was the boy who was busy with a paper pad, pencil and coins. His mother took these items from him, and then speaking softly, pointed him towards the door. He went out quietly, all alone, and was led away by the nurse who held his hand. As soon as the waiting room door closed I became very curious about what was happening to him in the nearby surgery. I strained my ears to see if I could hear anything through the waiting room door. It was difficult to hear much over the hub-bub of conversation in the room, but I heard a door open, the sound of a womens voice, and then the door closing again. Then there was silence for a while, punctuated by footsteps in the corridor, and after that I thought that I could just make out the sound of a distant mans voice, which went droning on for a while. Then came what sounded like a long muffled grunt - the distant voice droned some more - and then more silence.
A minute or so later I heard a short series of soft bumps, followed by the sound of people walking about, and then quite suddenly there was faint but very distinct crying. Conversation in the waiting room flagged noticably at this point, and it became easier to hear what was happening outside. Then the waiting room door opened to admit a whiff of a sweet smell reminiscent of a dry cleaning shop and the boy's mother was called outside by the nurse. Almost at once I heard another door open, and then came the sound of retching and strident crying which rapidly faded away down the corridor.
I sat in my chair in the waiting room feeling numb with fear. The sounds and smells that had reached me from the corridor outside had sharply reminded me of my own horrific experience of two weeks previously. There had been the sickening chemical smell of the Gas, followed by the evident distress of what must have been the boy who had left the waiting room only minutes before. Suddenly, I had a vivid recollection of the ginger-haired dentist standing beside the chair in the surgery, holding the hissing black rubber mask, bringing it closer and closer towards my face . . . .
And then the waiting room door opened. A nurse came in. The same nurse who two weeks ago had taken off my coat in the surgery, who had held my hands so tightly while I was breathing the Gas. She had a yellow appointment card in her hand, and she called out my name. My mother tried to take my hand to lead me to the surgery, but knowing what must be about to happen I burst into tears. Then I clamped both hands over my face to shield my nose and mouth from the mask I knew was waiting for me. My mother picked me up from my seat and without a word carried me out through the waiting room door, out into the corridor and across to the blue-painted door of the dental surgery.
I was carried sobbing into the surgery by my mother, still clutching my hands over my nose and mouth, and set down behind the chair. I looked around and saw the dentist, the nurses and (of course!) the gas machine with its black breathing bag and the rubber mask hanging on the hook at the front. Everything was ready for me. Everything was exactly as I remembered it from my initial appointment two weeks previously, right down to the pungent lingering chemical smell of the Gas in the room. I was rooted to the spot by the rush of horrific memories. Then one of the nurses advanced towards me holding out a brown rubber apron in her hands. That was the final confirmation of what was in store for me - and I flipped. I made a desperate dash for the door. I didn't make it. The two nurses cornered me, and then screaming at the top of my voice with my arms and legs thrashing wildly, I was half dragged - half carried back to the chair. As this was happening, the surgery door opened and a blue-uniformed senior nurse hurried in to see what the commotion was about. She tut-tutted at my struggling and screaming and proceded to help the others lift me into the chair and hold me down.
Next there was a sibilent hiss of gas from the direction of the anaesthetic trolley, and then the dentist appeared beside the chair holding the dreaded black rubber mask. Hissing and trailing its sinister black corrugated tube, it looked and sounded every bit like a venomous snake poised to strike at my nose and mouth. Again and again it darted at my face as I struggled with the nurses in the chair, and each time it came towards me I writhed and twisted my head away, only just managing to keep my features out of its gassy embrace. I fought to the limit of my strength to escape, but with four adults holding me down it was just a matter of how long I could hold out. All of this time I was screaming for my mother and begging the nurses to let me go, but to no avail. Finally, in an effort co-ordinated by the dentist, the senior nurse gripped my hands whilst the other two nurses each grasped one of my legs. Holding my legs rigid by locking my knee joints, they pushed on the soles of my feet and slid me back until my bottom was firmly wedged in the angle of the chair. Then the latex-gloved hand of the dentist seized my chin from behind and firmly pulled my head back into the head-rest. I was finally trapped.
Someone d****d a towel around my chest (a precaution, I later learned, against vomiting during the induction), and then as if in slow-motion the hissing black mask appeared before my face and hovered a hands-breadth away from my nose and mouth. In a blind panic I tried to turn my head away, but the dentist held my chin in a vice-like grip. Sweet chemically-laden gas blew from the mask and fanned my face. "Just Relax And Breathe Deeply" said the dentist, "Before You Know It Your Tooth Will Be Out And It'll All Be Over". My screaming stopped abruptly as I seized a huge gulp of gas-tainted air and held my breath. Then the mask descended, and made a perfect airtight seal around my nose and mouth. I felt two fingers of the hand holding the mask slide under my chin to support my jaw, and then the hand gripping my chin relaxed and moved away. Even then I could scarcely move my head. The sickening cocktail of chemicals, gas and rubber, so familiar to me from my previous appointment invaded my nostrils. I sat in the chair rigid with fear, much as a rabbit freezes in the headlights of an oncoming car. Looking out in mute desperation over the top of the mask, I watched in horrified fascination as the black rubber breathing bag on front of the the gas trolley slowly began to inflate with the first load of gas destined for my lungs.
I was already breathless from struggling, and holding my breath soon became impossible. Gritting my teeth, I exhaled as slowly as possible, using the stale air in my lungs to blow away the smell inside the mask, putting off second-by-second the rapidly approaching moment when I would be forced to begin breathing the Gas. The breathing bag fluttered and the mask hissed softly as I exhaled in short spurts, repeatedly clearing the sickly smell from the mask until all the air in my lungs was exhausted. Then the cloying sweet smell returned to flood the mask and fill my nostrils, and I knew that the dreaded moment had come.
"Breathe . . . " said the dentist, echoing my thoughts. I was beside myself with fright but simply couldn't hold my breath out a second longer. My chest heaved, and a huge gulp of rubbery Gas rushed down my throat and filled my empty lungs. The breathing bag on the Gas trolley sharply deflated. "Good Boy" murmured one of the nurses holding me down. I shuddered at the smell, and blew the pungent lungful back into the mask with a muffled sob. Having Gas was going to be every bit as horrible as the last time.
"And Again - Breathe . . . " I screamed and sobbed into the mask, and my muffled cries resonated in the corrugated tubing until I ran out of breath and had to take another gulp of pungent Gas. The dentist calmly adjusted the flowmeters on the anaesthetic trolley, checking that the flow of gas into the breathing circuit was slow; steady; adequate.
"Breathe Deeply . . . " Still I struggled in the chair, fighting to free my hands from the grip of the nurse and writhing in an attempt to dislodge the black smothering mask from my face. My breath came in short staccato gasps as I alternately held my breath against the pungent Gas and then succombed to a desperate urge to breathe. I can remember staring over the cuff of the mask and seeing the breathing bag on the trolley twitching in response to my ragged breathing.
I felt as though I was suffocating. I had to take a deep breath. Even if it was a breath of Gas. Just the one. Then maybe I would be able to hold my breath again. My gaze followed the corrugated black rubber tube running from the mask to the gas trolley. I looked at the black rubber breathing bag, gritted my teeth, and grimly inhaled. I shuddered as the sweet chemical-scented Gas charged down my throat in what seemed like a never-ending torrent. The breathing bag deflated in response to my reluctant deep breath, and then the mask hissed softly as I started to breath out. Quite suddenly my arms and legs felt very cold and I became aware of my pulse racing in my ears.
"Breathe . . . " droned the disembodied voice of the dentist. Distracted by the odd sensation I forgot about holding my breath and took another big gulp of Gas from the mask. The sudden chill in my limbs erupted into tingling pins and needles. Another breath, and the tingling sensation travelled up my limbs to my chest. Yet another breath, and it swept onwards to my head which then began to buzz in sympathy with my body. I gulped several more quick deep breaths from the mask as rapidly as my lungs would let me, desperately trying to shorten my ordeal. "Don't Try To Rush It . . " echoed the voice of the dentist in my ears, "Breathe Through Your Nose . . .". Suddenly, my limbs felt as heavy as lead, and my body seemed to be pressed into the padding of the dentist's chair as if by an enormous unseen hand.
Then I remember staring fixedly over the cuff of the mask, and through a mist of Gas and tears, focussing on the black rubber breathing bag on the Gas trolley. It was rhythmically filling and then emptying; filling and emptying; responding to my breathing; registering the Gas as it flowed into and then out of my lungs. Dimly I realised that it had become too difficult to control my breathing and that my body, which now seemed like a separate entity, was breathing automatically on my behalf. "Going To sleep Now . . . " said the disembodied voice of the dentist, which reverberated as if in a long tunnel. His hand was doing something near the bottle of blue liquid at the back of the Gas trolley, but I could no longer move my eyes to see what.
My struggle was nearly over. I was no longer holding my breath or fighting the nurses. Sitting motionless in the chair with the black rubber mask held snugly over my nose and mouth, I breathed the Gas calmly, deeply and quietly. As I breathed in, the breathing bag slowly contracted and I felt the cool pungent Gas stream deep into my lungs. As I breathed out, the bag quickly expanded, then bulged, and then the mask would hiss softly. Gradually the tingling and buzzing sensation in my head and body became more and more intense and my eyelids heavier and heavier. Then a new world started to open up before me. A strange world of red mists filled with buzzing and pulsating stars, where the only things that mattered were my breathing and the smell and taste of the Gas. I felt myself take another big deep breath from the mask, then my eyes slowly closed and the buzzing stars drew me gently into their midst.
And then I was floating in a red star-speckled mist that suffused my entire being with an intense tingling buzz. The sound of my deep relaxed breathing, the sibilent hissing of the Gas trolley and the rhythmic `Pssssst' sound the mask was making filled my entire universe. Then with each breath, the chemical smell in the Gas mixture that I was breathing became stronger and Stronger and STRONGER!
And then I suddenly realised that my eyes were wide open and I was staring at the ceiling light above the chair in the surgery. Everything seemed dark and indistinct. There was an awful ache in my jaw, and a chemical and salty taste in my mouth. I felt very sick and woozy and as soon as I remembered where I was and what was happening to me, I thrashed wildly in the chair, screaming for my mother. Blurred faces of the nurses appeared and hovered over me. "Its All Over" and "Your Tooth Is Out" they chorused.
Then the head and shoulders of another nurse appeared in my field of view, and leaned over the side of the chair. She was wearing a brown rubber bib apron over her white uniform, and I recall thinking at first that she might be at the dentist to have Gas too. But without a word she bent over me, scooped my out of the chair and into her arms. Then she carried me, sobbing, head cradled against the bib of her apron, out through the blue-painted door of the surgery and into the cool fresh air of the corridor.
We got to the door of the recovery room, and I remember staring fixedly at the ceiling as I was carried inside, either unable or unwilling to move my head. There was a sour smell of vomit and the sound of another c***d crying as I was carried into the room, neither of which did anything to improve how I was feeling. My mother sat on a chair, the nurse lowered me on to her lap where she held me while I started to recover. I felt dreadful, and unlike my first gassing, I had an appalling chemical taste in my mouth that just would not go away. Gradually I became more aware of my surroundings. Then I remember smelling rubber, looking down towards my feet, and realising that I was now wearing a brown rubber apron. It was just like the ones I sometimes wore at school, and the one I had worn during me first dental Gas experience two weeks earlier. It felt comforting and snug around my body, and the soft smell of the brown rubber was in a strange way comforting after the recent horrors of the black rubber mask. How I came to be wearing it I did not know, and supposed I had it put on me while I was asleep from the Gas.
The nurse who was wearing a rubber apron was by then bustling around at the far end of the room where the crying was coming from. Distrought and disoriented as I was, I managed to turn my head to see what she was doing. At the end of the room, lying on a red plastic couch and wearing a brown rubber apron just like the one I had on, was the boy who had been making pencil rubbings of coins. He looked ashen-faced, and was lying on his side with a soiled towel under his face. His shoes had been taken off and were piled on the floor beside the couch together with his pad of paper, pencil box and the bag his mother had been carrying. He was sobbing quietly whilst being watched by the nurse and comforted by his mother, alternately spitting blood and retching into a shiny metal bowl being held in front of his pale face.
I am not sure how long I sat on my mothers lap recovering from the gas. It took rather longer than after my first gassing. (In retrospect I didn't feel my tooth being pulled out the second time, and so I could have been given a stronger dose of volatile anaesthetic. That may also have accounted for the chemical aftertaste that I experienced). Eventually I could stand unaided, and then I was given a plastic beaker of pink mouthwash that I had to rinse out with standing over a sink, and spit the rinsings back into the beaker - not into the sink. I soon coloured the beaker contents red with my blood. Then my brown rubber apron was removed by the nurse. As she did so, I noticed that the inside surface of the apron was damp with perspiration - just like after my first gassing. I walked unsteadily towards the exit supported by my mother. As we passed through the reception area, the blue-uniformed senior nurse who had helped restrain me while I was gassed in the surgery bustled over to us. "Fancy Making Such A Fuss Over A Little Thing Like That" she scolded me.
Epilogue.
So ends the story of my second dental gas anaesthetic. Thankfully, I had no further encounters with the black rubber mask for another five or six years, until I broke one of my few remaining milk teeth (but that is yet another story). After that I had no further dental problems at all and managed to avoid dentists until I reached adulthood. Then of course, I had the option of refusing any proposed treatment (or anaesthetic), and then much of the fear evaporated. This coincided with the decline of Dental General Anaesthesia in a surgery setting in the UK. In fact the dentist who did the comprehensive treatment plan at the end of my prolonged period of self-imposed dental abstinance had no G.A. equipment of any kind in the surgery. And so the dreaded self-posed question, `Will I have to have gas?', that had haunted me throughout c***dhood never arose again.
So there you have it. My second Gas story, or at least as much as I remember. Like others in this community, my experiences in the dentist's chair gave rise to a fascination with Gas anaesthesia and, of course, with rubber aprons. In fact, I am wearing a rubber apron (and nothing else!) right now, as I conclude this writing this account. It's a traditional brown rubber bib apron with metal eyelets and waist ties. It's adult-sized, but otherwise identical to the one that I wore when I first had gas at the dental clinic. Its cool snugness about my body and its soft rubbery smell are as comforting as ever, and whenever I take a deep breath, I can feel the bib give my chest a comforting hug. It certainly brings back memories!
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