i'll buy that for a dollar!

The last time I went to the dentist, he saw a "shadow" in the root of a tooth that had previously endured everything short of a land mine. He said we'd check up on it in six months, as it would either reveal itself to be an x-ray glitch, or an abcess. Christ.

What could I do? Naturally, I waited three and a half years, hoping that an abcess, like a taunting older brother, will eventually go away if you pay it no attention. It never hurt, nor bothered anyone, nor made inappropriate gestures in public, so I left it to spread silently throughout my jaw bone, assuming it would finally rupture or something, at which point I'd beg for the dentist. That was my plan.


I should mention that I am a dental war veteran, and that I've seen my share of action. Root canals, extractions, fillings, name it. By no means have I been awarded medals of valor, however, for each and every experience has been preceded by a) rocking in the fetal position, b) crying/begging, and c) valium. I am the epitome (or epi-tome, as some might say) of dental-phobic. Hence my egregious gamble with the ominous shadow. Meanwhile, I could just feel my jaw decaying, a false sensation followed by lots of imagined drilling, shots, and those ungodly stakes they jam down your roots. I wasted at least one year by telling Todd we just couldn't afford it, but then, good dental samaritan that he is, he began insisting that I go. Conveniently, I "forgot" for another year, and hedged subsequent queries with my swift subject-changing mojo. (I'm very good at this, but that's for another blog.)

Deep down, I knew I had to go, and last month I finally made the appointment. By the way, the minute I did so, every tooth in my head began throbbing and causing searing pains down my face. People have assured me that because I have endured childbirth, an appendectomy, and the removal of the Tumor that Ate Texas, I would be fine. But I implore you to see that pain inflicted in the past does nothing to nullify pain in the present. Just because I've had babies doesn't mean that ramming a tent stake into my nerve hurts less. Duh. Whether or not I survive is not the issue. I DON'T WANT IT TO HURT!

Back to the day of reckoning. I managed to drive to my appointment, only having moderate myocardial infarction, and was proud to have arrived without an escort. I had my check for $230 pinned to my shirt, like a good little girl, and walked in. I was exceedingly nice to all the receptionists, in hopes that this would karmically help reduce the chances of a runaway abcess. And then I waited. In hell. Finally it was my turn, and when the assistant asked how I was, I unloaded my entire footlocker of anxiety on her, in a manner that resembled vomiting on someone. But she handled it with aplomb, and spent thirty minutes easing my worries. She helped prepare me for my x-rays, which would seal my fate in seconds. Now, it's too late to make a long story short, but praise the Lord, I have no cavities, and the shadow was just a shadow!

Speaking of karma, I didn't deserve to get an A+ today. I deserve to have my teeth fall out in rows, and to be left with bloody, uneven stumps. I'm not a very good person. Maybe today's good fortune was an example of grace, which is much more plausible to me than karma, but that is DEFINITELY another blog. In any event, I told Dr. O'Leary that he was my lucky charm, and then took it too far with a leprechaun joke and made a hasty exit.

The good news didn't stop there. When I floated out to the reception area, I was informed that I was being given a new patient promotion, because it had been so long, and that the cost of my visit would be one dollar. One dollar! I asked if they had any similar deals on liposuction, which got laughs from the young women and disappointed head shakes from the middle-aged women who have already discovered that we are supposed to love our bodies no matter what. Hey, can't blame a Fitzpatrick for trying to push her luck a little, right?