I cracked my tooth on a tater tot.
Everyone who witnessed me breaking my tooth says I had a panic attack. Like a two year old, my lips were sealed and I wouldn’t let my dad look in my mouth to access the damage with his flash light. My mom had to coax me into parting my lips.
I, a very passive person, got angry with my mom for her lack of googling skills. Of course I break my tooth on a Sunday when all the dentists offices are closed. I called her an ‘old person’ because the Luddite struggled to find a 24 hour emergency dental clinic. I also told her to lie and tell the dentist the pain we 10 out of 10 to get me in faster. (In her defense, there is no 24 hour emergency dentist in Fairbanks AK, reminding me that we have left the metropolis of Seattle).
Tomorrow I finally get my tooth fixed. For perspective I’ve given birth both naturally and via csection but the thought of enduring this filling seems 100 times worse than either of those. Yes. Cramming a watermelon sized baby out of my vagina sounds like cake compared to going to the dentist.
I was explaining to my grandma that I plan to milk this. Tomorrow I shall be referred to as ‘Princess Baylie’ and watch Gilmore Girls in a medicated haze and that I have encourage all of my friends to send flowers, cards, or mush foods. Or maybe text Bjorn sympathy as her is dealing with my hot mess.
Leave it to my grandma to put it all in perspective as she hilariously told me that it sounded like I was trying to upstage her. It’s funny because she is dying.
We uprooted ourselves from Seattle and headed north up through Canada home to Alaska as soon as I heard that my grandma had been admitted to Hospice. Through this experience I have learned to let go stress. All things seem small when your loved one is dying.
Even getting your tooth fixed at the dentist.