The dentist and OCD

Do you dread dentist appointments? Do you hate the thought of sitting in that chair with the fear of needles, drills, and other scary looking tools?

Yes, me, too.

Though I don’t dread it like I used to do. And I consider that lessening of anxiety a triumph over a bit of OCD in my life.

I went to the dentist this week for my six-month check-up. I’ve been seeing the same dentist for 29 years, and I wouldn’t trade him for another. He understands my teeth: their thin enamel, their hyper-sensitivity. He’s good at what he does.

And he’s very kind. The other day, the dental hygienist did the cleaning, as usual, then the dentist came in to look things over. As is usually the case now, he pronounced everything fine and told me he’d see me in six months.

“But if you need anything before then, you know we’re here for you,” he said.

I have spent a lifetime being vigilant about brushing my teeth and, as an adult, flossing. But I’ve had cavities and have had to have several root canals. We’re not sure why I have such problems. Perhaps the lack of fluoride as a child. Perhaps the thin enamel. Perhaps just bad genes.

When I started having OCD symptoms, the trips to the dentist became part of my obsessions.

As a dentist appointment drew closer, I felt very anxious. More importantly, I felt like I couldn’t relax, couldn’t NOT worry, until the visit was over.

If I had to return to the dentist for a cavity filling or a root canal, I tried to get an appointment as soon as possible. The sooner it was, the sooner I could get it over with and be OK.

If the appointment wasn’t soon enough (in my opinion), then I would call the dentist office multiple times, asking about cancellations.

When I grew in understanding that fear of uncertainty is a big part of OCD, I began to see that I would have to live with the idea that painful, uncomfortable, scary things were in my future, were in everyone’s future. That’s life.

But in the meantime, I was wasting the present by not allowing myself to enjoy life until the “big event” was over. I’ve learned that the present, right now, is so important.

Life is to be enjoyed and appreciated now.

Also, as my OCD improved overall, the improvement included a lessening of that belief that I couldn’t be OK until all worries were taken care of.

So I go see the dentist every six months. I still feel a little trepidation at the thought of something being wrong with my teeth. But I get through it. And if I need to go back for some work, I no longer obsess over getting the work done immediately.

It’s nice to be able to enjoy the present as best as I can.

So, what’s your relationship with the dental office?

OCD and scary thoughts and dreams

Shadows

Thoughts are powerful. I’m sure you already know that. What we mull over and dwell on in our thoughts can affect our mood and our outlook, our actions. Thoughts are that powerful.

If you have obsessive-compulsive disorder, you know that thoughts can seem especially powerful, and you attach more importance to them than they deserve.

The obsessions of OCD are uncontrolled thoughts about specific things that cause intense anxiety. They revolve around concerns about things such as harm, contamination and morality.

For example, I used to be consumed with thoughts about the safety of others, especially the safety of my loved ones. I worried and agonized over the possibility that harm would come to them, and that I would be the cause of that harm.

I acted out different compulsions to try to assuage the anxiety caused by the obsessions. I washed my hands incessantly to try to avoid passing germs to others and making them sick. I prayed the same words over and over, trying to create a magical safety net around my family. I checked light switches and stovetops repeatedly to make sure I had turned off electrical devices, because I believed if I left them on, a fire might start and hurt or kill others.

Another way thoughts can be troublesome for those of us with OCD is the way they seem to be so true. If I think that I left a lamp on at the office, then it must be true. If that thought comes along with a feeling of anxiety, then it must mean that I left the light on.

I’ve come a long way since the days when thoughts and compulsions like that consumed me. But this week, I’ve been revisited by scary thoughts.

My husband told me about a snippet of a dream he recently had. In the dream, he realized that he had died at a certain age. In real life, he turns that age next year.

After he told me, I was immediately caught up in anxiety, fear and depression.

What if it was a premonition? What if it were true? Why would he dream that? What did it mean that he dreamed it?

I couldn’t let it go. I kept thinking and thinking about it.

I thought about dreams that I had had that I felt were premonitions. I thought about the times that I had awakened from a dream and believed I had learned something.

What if that was the age that he would die? What could I do to stop it, to change it?

If I spoke about it to him, to anyone, would that mean that it would come true?

Some people believe all dreams mean something. Was that true? What did this dream mean?

I finally realized that my thoughts were a manifestation of my OCD. I realized that my fears about the importance of Larry’s dream were very similar to my fears about the importance of my thoughts.

My therapist taught me a lot about my thoughts. He taught me that the brain produces thoughts constantly, many without my intention or permission. Just because I have a thought doesn’t mean it’s true or will come true. It doesn’t mean that I wanted to think it.

And just because I feel anxiety doesn’t mean that there’s a logical reason for it or that I really have something to fear.

Perhaps that is the way I should view Larry’s dream. It’s a dream, produced by some combination of thoughts, emotions, memories and who knows what. I’ll never arrive at an answer for what it means.

And as Larry told me, in trying to comfort me when I expressed concern, no one knows when he or she will die except God.

My thoughts about it, my fear, will not change anything. I will have to do what I have to do with every OCD episode: live with the anxiety until it goes away, focus on other things, and recognize for yet another time that I have to live with uncertainty.

Have you ever been haunted by a dream that you or someone else had? How do you deal with fears about the future?

Needed: A move forward

As I write this, I’m listening to “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” play on the TV in the next room. I watched the movie Saturday, but I had missed the beginning. When the movie started again this evening, I watched the beginning, and then left it on in the background.

It’s a really good movie. It’s about a group of British people who retire to India to a hotel that doesn’t quite meet their expectations. In fact, the whole country and culture of India doesn’t meet the expectations of some in the group, and the movie follows their individual efforts at adapting and learning to enjoy their new world.

I enjoy movies like this, that show people learning to make peace with their age, becoming invigorated by new experiences, finding lives that makes them feel whole and content.

I want to feel like that: whole and content. But I have some work to do first.

It has been a quiet weekend, a quiet few days. I missed work Thursday because of a bad cold and cough, and then was off work Friday for the Good Friday holiday. I’ve spent much of the past few days asleep, knocked out by the cold itself and the cough medicine.

I find myself this Sunday evening feeling out of sorts and a bit depressed. I know some of that comes from feeling physically under the weather. But some of it is coming from a sense of dissatisfaction with myself.

In “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel,” there is one character that refuses to try to enjoy her new country. She stays in the hotel and complains incessantly about what others see as challenges and opportunities to experience new beauty.

I wonder, would I be that character if I were in her position? Would I refuse to leave the hotel, refuse to experience new things, and refuse to love my new life?

I hope not. But here I am on a Sunday night, dreading Monday and its work, fearing the routine that starts anew.

I’ve made commitments to live a full life despite my OCD and depression. I have a vision and mission to live a certain way. Why, then, am I still mired down in the day-to-day fears? Why am I not living intentionally? Why am I not moving forward?

I hope this time of introspection will lead to more action on my part. To help ensure that, I’m planning on doing the following over the next few days:

*Meditate and pray

*Write: journaling, listing, planning

*Read

*Spend time with nature

I hope to report positive things soon.

Do you ever feel stuck, like you’re not moving forward? How do you handle it?

OCD and cleaning off the table

This weekend I finished something that I’ve been working on periodically for months. I cleaned off the table in our dining area.

It had been literally piled up with mail and other paperwork—old bills, receipts, bank statements, health insurance statements, etc.

  I wrote about the table back in March. My therapist thought I was avoiding facing the clutter because of the anxiety involved in going through the paperwork. He was right.

Every time I worked on even just a little bit of the clutter, my anxiety would go up to about an 85 or 90 on the SUDs scale.

I was afraid of what I would find—an unpaid bill I had forgotten about, an important notice I had ignored.

And I didn’t want to deal with the decisions of what to do with the paperwork after I cleaned it up.

As I wrote in my March post, my therapist told me it was all about the OCD. It was about my scrupulosity.

So I continued to avoid cleaning up the pile.

I would throw away a piece of junk mail every now and then, but I avoided any deep or methodical cleaning. I just let the paper pile up even more.

The pile had been on the table for a few years. I had gotten into the habit of putting my mail on the table. After I opened it, I left it there.

  If someone was coming to the house, I could sweep it into presentable piles at one end of the table. I managed.

  But the anxiety of having the mess as well as the anxiety of not knowing exactly what was in the pile was always there, sometimes under the surface, sometimes front and center.

So what helped me to finally face the paper?

The approaching Christmas season helped. I wanted to put up a second, smaller tree and use different colors than we used on the main tree in the den. The table was a good place to put the tree.

But I think the lessons I’m learning as I work on my OCD have been the biggest help.

I’ve been learning that facing the fears usually has good results. I’ve been learning that nothing is gained by continual avoidance. I’ve been learning that any anxiety over facing a fear is usually short-lived, and it certainly doesn’t do irreparable harm.

So one evening last week I worked a bit on it. Then I saved the bulk for this past Saturday. I sat down with a trash bag and a couple of banker’s boxes and some file folders and went at it.

I was surprised at how much stuff I could just throw away, and how willing I was to throw the stuff away.

And I was surprised at how quickly the process went after I had a routine going. It took me about an hour to clear the table.

My SUDs score was probably at about a 70 when I started. It quickly dissipated as I finished up the job.

When I had the table completely cleared—that was a good feeling. Then I had a whole space to do with what I wanted. So I decorated the tree and put it on the table.

I don’t have a “before” photo to compare with the “after” photo. I was too embarrassed by how bad the table looked.

But the “after” picture, though a long time coming, is beautiful to me.

  How do you push through resistance to accomplish something that you’ve been putting off?

Please don't use my bathroom

One of the manifestations of my OCD that has endured since I was a child is fear about bathrooms.

At my worst, when I was a young woman, I spent hours at a time cleaning my small bathroom. I used at least one bottle of cleaner a week, sometimes more. And I went to great lengths to keep anyone else from using my bathroom.

My symptoms have greatly improved, but I still practice avoidance in this area. My husband and I have separate bathrooms, and I still don’t want anyone else to use my bathroom.

I had a revelation about my bathroom fears when I was talking with my new therapist this week. He led me through a series of “what ifs” to get at the heart of my fears.

It’s not really a contamination issue. I’m not afraid of catching some disease or illness from a dirty bathroom. Rather, I’m trying to avoid being disgusted at the sight of a bathroom mess.

My bathroom issues have also played a part in socially isolating me to a degree. If I don’t have really close friends, I don’t have to invite them to my house. If they’re not in my house, they won’t want to use my bathroom.

That’s awful. I don’t want to do that to myself or to my husband anymore.

To give you an idea of how my bathroom fears work, I’ll tell you about when I was in my 20s and living alone for the first time.

Cleaning my bathroom was a weekly ritual that I dreaded. But it would have bothered me more to not do the cleaning.

I slowly wiped down the sink, toilet, tub and floor with a cloth soaked in a solution of water and cleaner. I had to make sure I didn’t miss a spot, not even an inch of space. That meant looking at the surfaces from different angles, making sure each part was wet from my cleaning cloth.

There was never any obvious dirtiness to wipe away, because I was vigilant about cleanliness every time I used the bathroom. I sprayed the seat with disinfectant spray and wiped it with toilet paper after every use.

But I believed that I might have missed something, and I knew that many germs were invisible to the naked eye. So I scrubbed and wiped for hours every week.

After I finished the cleaning part, I doused all the surfaces in the room with disinfectant spray, using it as a blanket way to get any germs I had missed.

Even though I was particular about my own use of the bathroom, I couldn’t be sure that other people would be as careful as I was, and I would have to clean the bathroom once they were through and gone.

It was easier for me and for my peace of mind if I could just keep people from using my bathroom.

One day when I was still in my 20s, a friend stopped by my apartment to pick me up. We planned to go shopping together.

She asked to use the bathroom. I didn’t want her to use it, even though I had no rational reason to believe that she wouldn’t be clean in her use.

I lied to her and told her that I’d just cleaned the bathroom and that it was damp and couldn’t be used.

She suggested that she could wipe the toilet seat with toilet paper to dry it for use, but I still resisted, telling her no.

My friend had to use a public bathroom at the store we went to rather than use my bathroom. I was embarrassed but too ashamed to tell her the truth.

In later years, sometimes I had to share a bathroom, and it was a nightmare. I tried to shut down my senses when I used the bathroom and not notice any possible stains or dirt.

I want to work on my cleaning issues, especially with bathrooms, with my new therapy. I’d like to be able to better handle these fears that I’ve carried for so long and stop them from isolating me.