So Coach got to take Bug to the dentist yesterday for a routine cleaning. Honestly? We expected two or three cavities. Lack of dental insurance for quite some time, coupled with a child who equates frequent tooth brushing with cruel and unusual punishment; well, let's just repeat that we expected to need some fillings. What I didn't expect was to be sitting at my desk yesterday morning, going about my business, when this text message came through from Coach:
That was it. Two stinkin' little words. Two stinkin' little words that had the power to have me promptly and dramatically freak the heck out.
Turns out, the dentist wasn't just recommending a root canal....eventually. Nope. He was insisting, demanding and ordering an emergency root canal. Right that minute, if his next appointment failed to show up in 30 seconds. Thank you, Anonymous Next Appointment; your timely arrival ensured that Bug's mama could be present for that stinkin' root canal. Which was conveniently scheduled for today.
(Side note here. I have the world's most AWESOME boss! Without hesitation or question, she let me take this afternoon off, telling me that for some things? Mom just has to be there. Period. Can I just tell you all how beyond amazing it is to work for someone who just ... gets it?)
I have never had a root canal. I've never seen one performed. So naturally, I'm imagining a drill the size of something Warner Brother's Acme Products would create diving into my baby's mouth. He was a bit apprehensive, having had it explained that they'd have to drill out the center of his tooth, scrape and scoop out every last bit of that nasty cavity, and fill it with metal goo. But he didn't ask me to go back with him when it was time. Which turned out to be a good thing, since the dentist told me I wasn't allowed to be back there. (Stupid AZ patient privacy laws. Only allowing the patient to be back in the treatment room. What if he was 4 instead of 11? What then, huh? Stupid rules.)
I am so proud of my boy. When the dentist dragged me kicking and screaming back to my lobby seat (okay, okay, fine..... he just looked over his shoulder at me and politely told me that I couldn't stay back there), Bug just grinned at me (albeit a little shakily) and assured me he'd be fine. And so I went back out and sat down. And waited.
That? Was long wait. A very long, 2.5 hour wait. Which was longer for me than it was for him, as he'd been fortunate enough to have been given the nitrous gas at the beginning while I sat there convinced I could hear that evil monster drill the entire time. So when he walked out to Coach and I, we had to laugh a little. His eyes were big and wide. He was slightly unsteady on his feet. And he was grinning like a loon.
That was the coolest thing ever!
Later he told me that he's pretty sure he used up the entire canister. And he thinks he might have told the dental personnel that his older brother (who was in the chair in the next room having his dental bubble burst, as well; which is a story for another time) had the same middle name as one of the hygienist's children, who had the same name as the other hygienist's boyfriend. Except Jock's middle name isn't even remotely close to that other name. But he does remember hearing someone say that, and in hindsight thinks it could have been him. (And yes, it was him. Jock heard the entire conversation from the next room.)
While the procedure was nowhere near as simple as all of this sounds, and definitely involved a bit of Gee, the drill tapped into that abscess and the dentist can't get the bleeding to stop, so you'll have to bring him back at another time to finish this up, overall it went well. I'm thinking, though, that when we go back to actually have that big hole in his tooth filled in.....I'm going to have to insist on some of that gas to get me through the wait.
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