The Root of the Problem

It all began four years ago with a phone call. My husband and I were vacationing in London. The cell phone rang. There are so many moments that are defined by a single ring of the phone. There is always life defined before the phone call, and a new definition that unravels after the phone call.

When we saw our best friend's number pop up on caller ID, we were happy to see it. When my husband asked me who our dentist was and then passed me the phone, all I could hear was screaming in the background. Was that screaming in the background? What was all that screaming in the background?

There was no time for story, there was only action. In that surreal way that these moments happen, we were oddly separate from the moment. Separated by ocean. Separated by time. Separated and oddly cushioned from the blow.

During a baseball game, our son was playing third base. A quick throw came from home plate. The ball bounced off the tip of his mitt and hit him in the mouth. His front tooth popped out and hit the ground.

As far as bad things go, this was not epic proportion bad. It has however, been an epic proportion pain in the butt. It's meant many hours of time in the dentist's chair dealing with the unknown. Every procedure we "hoped" was going to help our long term prognosis.

Today, we have a date with the oral surgeon. The tooth has to come out. After four years and thousand of dollars, that good old tooth is finally going to be free, as fate intended.

It sounds simple. It's not. There are a lot more hours to log in the dentist's chair and care. There are still so many unknowns. My boy is in fairly good spirits. The mom is a little more tattered and weary.

I missed that brutal moment years ago, but I've been by his side ever since.