Updated: July 8, 2021
Originally Published: December 18, 2010
Recently, my three-year-old son had his first dental visit, and it turned out he had a cavity. It quickly became evident that filling it wouldn’t be a simple task, so we scheduled another appointment for him to receive a mild sedative along with nitrous oxide to help him relax. The night before, I was a bundle of nerves. What if something went wrong?
When we arrived, he was presented with two tiny cups, which I whimsically imagined said “Drink Me” like in Alice in Wonderland, but they were just numbered 1 and 2. He downed both without a fuss. We were then escorted to a snug little room with a couch and a softly playing TV, the lights dimmed to create a calm atmosphere. The dental assistant assured me that he would start to become less active and that if he fell asleep, it was completely fine.
An hour passed, and I watched in disbelief as my son transformed from bouncing off the couch to emptying the bookshelf of every book in sight. I stepped outside to inquire if it was normal for children to get hyper before calming down. The answer? No, that wasn’t typical. By the time the hour concluded and the dentist was ready, my son was a whirlwind of energy. In the chair, he chose a bubble gum scent for the nitrous oxide, but the dentist informed me that he was among the “10%” of kids who reacted contrary to the sedative effect. The gas did nothing to help him calm down. Instead, he bit the dentist’s finger and yanked off the bubble gum nose.
Of course, I thought, he’s in that 10%. The dentist mentioned he might fall asleep when we got home, but that didn’t happen either. He was full of energy until he finally crashed at 8:30 PM, only to wake up bright and early at 6 AM.
Is there more to it? Last year, during evaluations, they indicated some “red flags” that suggested a potential ADHD diagnosis for him. One part of me sees him as just a lively child, while another recognizes that at dinner, he struggles to stay in his seat. It often feels like an invisible force is drawing him out of his chair.
I know he finds it challenging to wait his turn, manage his emotions—especially anger—and often fidgets, even when he’s supposed to sit still. He jumps from task to task without finishing the first. And even when I’m directly talking to him, his mind seems to wander. He’s a dreamer, a drifter. While these behaviors could indicate ADHD, I’m not ready to label him just yet. I’ve witnessed him overcome too much to confine him to any diagnosis at this stage.
For now, I prefer to view it differently: At the dentist, my son simply made a mistake. He is, after all, a superhero. He hasn’t fully realized the extent of his potential, and thus he was unaware that he was supposed to pretend the medicine worked. He didn’t know he was meant to hide his superhuman strength and resistance to our feeble attempts at calming him. I suspect that at night, while the world sleeps, he practices flying around our home. Things always seem different in the morning.
Perhaps all spirited children are superheroes in training; they just haven’t learned to harness their powers yet. Being in the 10% might mean there are other heroes out there. Maybe my son is truly a superhero. Or maybe I’m just imagining things.
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Summary
A mother reflects on her son’s chaotic experience at the dentist, contemplating the possibility of ADHD but choosing to embrace his energetic spirit as that of a superhero in training. She acknowledges the challenges of raising a spirited child while maintaining hope for his potential.