Monday, my dental hygienist Becky paid me a compliment when I told her there was a bump on my gums, right by a tooth that aches occasionally. She said most people don’t notice what happens in their mouth and that it was admirable I paid attention. After taking a look inside my mouth, Becky predicted a trip to the endodontist was in my future. She called in the dentist, who confirmed her prediction: root canal. I had a sinking feeling in my gut.
I was lucky to book an appointment with an endodontist for the next day. At first, when she began to examine the area, it was so tender that I nearly jumped out of the chair! She needed to give me Novocain injections before proceeding. She had a reassuring manner and so I relaxed a bit, prematurely it turned out. These were massive needles, massive injections of Novocain, and were easily the worst part of the whole deal. I made whimpering sounds while she murmured she was sorry. I almost believed her but not quite!
Acceptably numb, face distorted, my lips no longer under conscious control, the anxious me tilted towards catastrophizing, speculating these horrid sensations were here to stay. Then through the numbness, I could feel the instruments poking into flesh. Betrayal! Why all the Novocain if I was still going to feel the jabs? A nano-second later, she declared: “Your tooth is cracked under its crown and thus is not a candidate for a root canal.” This declaration elicited a great number of paradoxical feelings, among them, relief and despair. Relief because I could leave this place and never return; despair because this meant I would be losing tooth #18.
It’s Friday now. I’ve had time to ponder this loss and make an appointment for September 11 at 10:50 AM for the extraction.
This morning, as I laced up my walking shoes, I decided to honor Tooth #18 by dedicating the walk to them. Gliding along the nature path with my Exersliders poles, I acknowledged the sadness I have been feeling all week at losing #18, the end molar on the lower left hand side of my jaw. I rolled my tongue back to where it still resides. Soon all I will feel there is smooth gum—the way it must have felt when I was an infant before I grew permanent teeth, a misnomer, I now realize!
As I stacked my poles next to the closet, I realize that all of these feelings are not only part of coming to grips with the loss of a single tooth, but related to greater sensations of loss and impermanence as I age. #18 is teaching me about living and dying.
Where have you noticed signs of impermanence in your life?
