Recently, my three-year-old son, Ethan, experienced his first dental appointment where it was discovered he had a cavity. It soon became apparent that he would require assistance to have it filled, leading us to schedule another visit for a mild sedative and nitrous oxide to help him relax during the procedure. The night before the appointment, I was filled with anxiety. What if complications arose?
Upon our arrival, Ethan was presented with two small cups, reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland, labeled simply “1” and “2.” He drank them without hesitation. We were then taken to a comfortable room adorned with a couch and a softly playing TV, where the lights were dimmed. The dental assistant reassured me that he would begin to calm down and that it was perfectly fine if he fell asleep.
As the hour passed, I watched Ethan bounce energetically between the bookshelf and the couch, using it as a trampoline while emptying the shelves of books. Concerned, I stepped outside to inquire if it was normal for children to become hyper before sedation. The staff informed me this wasn’t typical. By the time the dentist was ready, Ethan was practically bouncing off the walls. When he chose bubble gum for the nitrous oxide mask, the dentist indicated that Ethan fell into the “10%” of children who react oppositely to sedation. The laughing gas had no effect; he bit the dentist’s finger and tore off the bubble gum mask.
Of course, I thought, he would be in the 10%. The dentist suggested he might feel sleepy upon returning home, but that didn’t happen. Instead, he was full of energy until he finally crashed at 8:30 PM, only to wake up bright-eyed at 6 AM.
As I reflected on this experience, I recalled a previous assessment that indicated Ethan showed “red flags” for a potential ADHD diagnosis. Part of me sees him as merely a spirited little boy, while another part recognizes that mealtime is often a struggle to keep him seated. At times, it feels as though an invisible force is yanking him out of his chair.
Ethan struggles with taking turns, managing his emotions (especially anger), and remaining still. He flits from one activity to another without completing any, and his attention often drifts elsewhere, even when I am speaking directly to him. He’s a dreamer, a wanderer. While these behaviors align with signs of ADHD, I’m hesitant to label him just yet. He has overcome so much already.
For now, I choose to perceive it differently: during his dental visit, Ethan simply made a miscalculation. He is, in fact, a superhero. Unbeknownst to him, he possesses extraordinary potential and was unaware that he needed to act as if the medicine would take effect.
He wasn’t meant to reveal his remarkable strength, resistance to our feeble sedatives, or boundless energy that persists even during supposed “sleep.” I suspect that while he sleeps, he practices flying throughout the house, as everything appears different in the morning.
Perhaps all spirited children are just superheroes in training, still learning to harness their abilities. Being in the 10% could mean there are other heroes out there. Maybe my son is a superhero. Or perhaps I’m mistaken.
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Summary:
This article discusses a mother’s experience at the dentist with her energetic toddler, Ethan. Despite indications of hyperactivity and potential ADHD, she chooses to embrace the idea that her son may be a superhero in training, learning to control his extraordinary energy and potential. The narrative highlights the challenges of parenting a spirited child while maintaining hope and perspective.