Chapter 11 | The one who kicked her fears (and the dentist)

I started school when I was five. On the first day, whilst other children my age were crying snot and trane I had said to Mama: 'Ok you can go now. I'll be fine.'

Maybe my fall off the bed had diminished my pain cells somewhat, but for some reason I didn't fear much.   

By the age of 2 I was already sleeping in my own room. I wasn't one of those who ran into 'mummy's room' in the middle of the night when the realization of being alone dawned on me.

I'd climb high walls without fearing the drop to the other side. I broke my elbow once but neither Mama or I can recall how. For one simple reason, I had not taken cognizance of it.

I was having fun and if this meant breaking a ligament in the process - so be it. There was never a question of 'should I' when it came to taking risks. I simply did.

Except for the dentist. The mere mention of the word filled me with dread. I could have been suffering with a severe toothache but the minute Papa said 'come, we're taking you to the dentist' the pain suddenly seemed irrelevant.

My first visit to the dentist left me petrified. Nothing significantly horrific happened but yet, the sight of all those tools dangling aimlessly to my side left me traumatized.

When the dentist wedged her pliar in my mouth, that was it. I kicked her, bit the fingers she had forced in, jumped off the seat and ran out the door screaming ' I want my Papa! I want my Papa.'

You can imagine my despair if I ran out screaming for the one other person I was afraid of.

Papa was good with us in that sense.

I used to suffer with terrible earache when I was young. I would wake in the middle of the night tearing in agony. On some nights Papa was still awake and he would heat my ear medication and carefully pour it down my ear.

It was the same when I had a toothache. I would hold my aching tooth between my fingers whilst Papa read a دعاء (prayer) for pain, after which I was given cloves to suck on.

In that, I saw the fatherly side of Papa.