Thursday, December 30, 2010

Three Things

1. Grr. Insurance companies. Grr. That is all.

2. I told my kids they could have screen time ALLLLL DAAAAAY (!!!!!) for this special holiday day ... as long as they get their work done first. Clean their bedroom floors. Put away their laundry. Tidy the toy room. 20 minutes of homework.

So, basically, they probably won't have any screen time all day. But they are very upbeat about the whole thing, because I've made such a generous offer.

Yes, I am an awesome mother.

3. I traveled down the main road in town at about seven miles per hour yesterday and felt like a totally reckless driver. The roads were pure ice. Is it March yet?

Monday, December 20, 2010

I'm Dreaming of a Painfree Endodontic Surgical Pre-Christmas

... or, if the title doesn't express my feelings perfectly, I'm dreaming of all the things that could potentially go wrong during my endodontic surgery today. Elijah said to me, "Mom, it sure would be sad if you died after your surgery was done."

Yes, Elijah, it would be very sad. We will try to avoid accidental death caused by unanticipated side-effects of an oral surgery gone wrong. At all costs.

I'm pretty sure people don't die at the endodontist's office nearly as often as they feel like they're dying. If you follow me on Facebook, you already know that I actually screamed in the endodontist's chair last Saturday, and here is a hint for you: if you are at an endodontist ... on a SATURDAY ... you will probably scream in pain before you leave. I'm just sayin'.

And if you are then scheduled to go back and see him two days later for a surgery, you might just dream of how you'll probably die before the day is done, too. If you have a good imagination, which, unfortunately, I do.

At this point in the confusing narrative, I'm thinking this blog has become Downersville, USA. My last blog entry was titled "BLOOD" and talked about how I see my son's silent screaming face of pain every time I close my eyes.

I know, I know. Merry *#%& Christmas from my family to yours.

It isn't all that bad. Other than the overwhelming anxiety of whether my choice to do oral sedation was brilliant or just one more complication that will probably lead to my early demise, I'm feeling pretty good! Lots of little Christmas blessings:

(1) My new dentist, whom I have never even met face-to-face, is a really decent guy and talked me through two days of trying the conservative approach before we gave up and had to do an emergency endodontist visit. He was a real life-saver.

(2) After two days of pure agony, the pain medications and steroids and antibiotics and oral rinses and ice packs and prayers and the endodontic visit-from-heck to drain my face really got me feeling like myself again. Just in time to sing with the church Christmas choir, which is important to me. Six Christmases ago, I was so set on singing with the church choir at Christmas time that I pushed my pregnant-with-twins body too far and ended up on bed rest. It would have happened sooner or later anyway, so it was worth it.

(3) I'm inclined to think this is God's way of forcing me to take care of my dental problems because this is the perfect time to do this. We haven't used any of our dental benefits much this year, so they should pay close to their full portion on this. We have a $2500 max that they will pay, and in two weeks that will reset so I can address any other dental issues. Yea, hooray? Also, I've already hit my out-of-pocket maximum on our health insurance so they are covering my multitude of prescriptions 100%. So this little emergency might end up costing me less than $1,000. Maybe. Better than the alternative. Also, because of Christmas break, there are lots of people available to help me with child care and driving the drugged lady around.

So there you have it, lots of little silver linings. I'm going to be feeling grateful for these things while trying to tame the anxiety beast and while sucking a liquid diet through a straw for the holidays.

I still have my sense of humor intact, so life must be okay.

Monday, December 06, 2010


Blessed with as much "creative genius" (aka anxiety disorder) as I am, I can never guess what my nightmares will be made of.

Until today.

Now, every time I close my eyes, I see the same thing: blood.

And a hole in the side of my oldest son's face. And a look of horror on the rest of it.

Blood. Hole. Pain.

This is not how I wanted my week to start: my son running downstairs in hysterics, blood streaming down his face, covering his hands. I tell myself I'm exaggerating, that it wasn't that bad. After all, there isn't any blood on the carpet--just a few wide swashes on the staircase where he steadied himself as he ran down to me.

I am trying not to lose my cool over the fact that I had repeatedly told him to stop what he was doing, get his socks and shoes on, and come down to breakfast. I am trying to forget the way his teeth chattered and his eyes screamed out to me when he was getting pricked over and over with a needle to get numbed up. I am trying to forget the look on his younger brother's face when the emergency room nurse uncovered the wound so we could all see it.

I am trying to block all of it out, but there it is every time I close my eyes.

One game of "tag." One sharp table corner. Five stitches (or seven, depending on who you ask). One Mom who hates blood and is still feeling faint. One impulsive little boy who may have, but probably didn't, learn some constructive life lesson from all of this.