I continue taking Erik to the dentist every two to four weeks. The photo above is of Erik using the suction tube on Stinky Dog. I tell Erik this piece of equipment is a miniature vacuum, and he enjoys playing with it.
The dentist no longer amuses me much, as I feel like he views us both as a gargantuan inconvenience because of our requirements for a private room and extra attention. Even his pimp-like, leather-inset pants and freshly-pressed shirt quietly irritated the crap out of me. I was informed that "Ms. Nikki," the woman half my size who insisted we deal only with her for Erik's special needs, is no longer employed at that office. Our new technician was able to sit Erik in a chair and eventually convince him to open his mouth so the dentist could paint foul-tasting fluoride lacquer on a couple of his teeth. Of course, I was required to explain hyperacusis all over again to the new technician. The dentist repeatedly instructed Erik to "calm down" and "stay still," and not in the kindest tone, but Erik seemed almost shocked into obeying. As he peeled off his orange gloves and got up to leave the room, Dr. Mike gruffly told his assistant they would be using the device to pry Erik's mouth open for an extended period of time at our next visit. Knowing Erik, this likely will traumatize him all over again, erasing any progress I had made with the whole desensitization process. Weeks of work down the drain.
I then took Erik to the main waiting room the office shares with a pediatric medical clinic and let him spin some wooden wheels on a bus-shaped play structure while I gathered my thoughts. I noted how strange it was to feel angry and disappointed while wearing a bobbing helium balloon tied to my wrist. Erik looked up at me and laughed, obviously delighted to indulge in some good, old-fashioned stimming. When it was time to go, he protested and began to cry, telling me he wanted to keep spinning the wheels. I practically dragged him out the front door, as he is too heavy to carry anymore.
Fun visit, my ass.