Goodbye 19

The most important thing I learned today: how much louder the bedroom TV needs to be so I can hear Firefly over the oxygen-creating air compressor that was just delivered for me.

The most comforting thing I learned today: my sleep problems aren’t necessarily a result of my weight (I would view that as an embarrassing personal failure).

The funnest thing I learned today: I may very well start dreaming again.

My biggest hope today: Napping will no longer be my #1 go-to activity at all times (A – I still owe you an email and I have not forgotten about it! My bed has just had a siren call that ate up every moment of free time.)

The most significant thing I learned today: This means I will have a better time concentrating, which will improve my entire life. And high quality sleep improves your lifespan.

So today sounds pretty good, right? Yes, today was a good day. Yesterday? Not so good.

Yesterday started at the end. Of a seven-week descent into denial and toothache. See, I have white-coat syndrome over dentists, bad. I fear dentists and all things dentist-ly. Seven weeks ago I realized I had a toothache. Did I call my dentist and say, “Hi, due to my previous experiences with cracked teeth I would like to report that I have done it again and need to be seen” ? No.

I called and said I needed a cleaning. My dental hygienist is very popular. It routinely takes 6 weeks to get an appointment. I knew this. I knew that by getting an appointment with her I would A) See her and a dentist in about six weeks and B) Not have to see a dentist for about 6 weeks. Sounded like a plan. Six weeks ago.

Interestingly enough, cracked teeth do not heal themselves. Ever.

Two weeks ago I had to start eating on one side of my mouth and, in a desperate attempt to deny the obvious, started using “sensitive” toothpaste.

This past weekend I started taking some Vicodin I had leftover from surgery. Every time the Vicodin would wear off and the tooth would hurt again (including the all-time favorite time: the middle of the night) I was absolutely baffled. I was living in extreme denial that anything was “actually” wrong with this tooth.

I could have called any day and my dentist would have fit me in the same day. My employer would not have blinked an eye about letting me go on a moment’s notice over a tooth ache. As a colleague once said, “What we do isn’t brain surgery. No one is going to die if we don’t show up.” There was absolutely nothing standing between me and the dentist except me.

So, two days ago the dentist’s office calls almost at closing and says the dental hygienist broke a rib and needed to reschedule for the next morning. By this point the fact that I had a cracked tooth was battening down my denial and I admitted I actually needed to see Mick, the dentist. She worked me in.

As luck would have it, the tooth that was bothering me was #19. He went through his paperwork on my mouth and couldn’t find any record of the crown on #19 that he pointed out to me was on the X-Ray. “Did you go to another dentist?” he asked. Ommm, yes. One time a few years ago I was so freaked out by having to get more dental work that I thought maybe if I saw someone else it would be better.

I really liked the other dentist but like many a wayward soul, made my way back home after the one procedure (truth: hubby and Mick are personal friends and he was really embarrassed that I was “stepping out” on our family dentist). Confessing the indiscretion to Mick I sounded indeed like a wayward wife confessing to a one-time fling.

In any case, none of that changed the fact that #19 had another crack. Mick set me up with an oral surgeon for that afternoon. I had instructions to take no painkillers for the rest of the day. OK. They didn’t say don’t take Ativan. But for some reason I didn’t.

I haven’t NOT taken Ativan for a dental appointment (including cleanings) in 10 years. So long, apparently, that I forgot why I take it for dental visits. Like the time I boarded a plane at the age of 21 without Dramamine. It was not good. For anyone. Neither was my experience with the oral surgeon.

I started crying pretty much at the beginning and ended up shaking throughout my entire body, visibly, for the entire procedure. The oral surgeon was young and handled it by ignoring the fact that I was crying and shaking. His assistant handed me tissues. I was still shaking when I handed over my Visa for my co-pay. I was still shell-shocked 5 hours later when I crawled into bed, barely having spoken since the procedure ended.

The last word on the procedure? The crack was too deep for the root canal to solve the problem. I’ll have to have the tooth extracted. It’s a bottom tooth and I’m going to have an implant, and then a crown. I’m looking at a half dozen dental appointments all told. And I will take Ativan for each and every one of them. And for extraction and implant I’m going under. I will not be awake for that nonsense.

Sleep? It’s the answer to everything.