Cavities and flaming cars and infants.

It was a dark and stormy night… er scratch.

Sweet Adeline has gigantic black holes in her teeth and the dentist told me I had to go see a special dentist, such were the width and breadth and cavernous size of these black holes.

I  thinking “He is going to tell us how he is going to fill this cavity and then we will come back and it will be over,”

He wearing Birkenstocks, a  kindergarten teacher and with a whole lot of black curly hair does what Very Special Dentists for Kids with Black Holes in their teeth do.  He looks in her mouth in a happy reassuring way and reports (using dentist code language) to the lady that has a computer in front of her that my child’s mouth is a warzone.

He didn’t exactly say that.   But he did say something sounding equally ominous about back teeth in their little dentist code language.

Then he starts talking to me about hospital visits or a minimum of 4 to 5 office visits to take care of all the problems in her mouth. My head starts reeling.  There were stars and birds.

I brought the babe because J had been so good about watching after her, that I thought I would give him a break.  Sylvie is typically pretty mellow, but in all the hubbub, she was getting a little ancy.   Swatting the cheerios out of my hand onto their floor and sucking air in the bottle, I was at once absorbed in what they were telling me and trying simultaneously to subdue her.

After some chatter about fluoride, brushing habits and eating habits he tells me that we can “do this” (me wondering what the alternative is).  He talks casually about anesthetics, sedatives, laughing gas, fillings and caps.  At this point, I furl my brow.

The office manager, matronly but a bit like an attractive man dressed as a woman, has a price sheet and she can barely start talking about costs before my eyes are popping out at what each visit is supposed to cost.  She recommends the hospital visit because the extent to which my Sweet Adeline ‘s teeth have rotted out.  Numbers like 900, 1500.  I felt like I just took my car in for an oil change and came out needing a new engine.

No, that’s that part that is not covered by insurance.

Everyone wants lunch, it’s 1 ‘o clock.  We leave, dobbing my eyes to make sure I am not losing it in the dentist office.

At the Pizza place a car that is on fire pulls in behind mine.  The plastic and flames are dripping down under the car and we standing behind the plate glass watching this spectacle while munching on our cheese pizza.  And naturally they do what they have to do.  Which is use fire extinguishers.  And that wouldn’t be such a big deal but all the junk that is in the fire extinguishers blows into the open windows of my car and all over my car.

I sit and munch my cheese pizza and ponder my child’s mouth, and feel bad for the momma whose car was on fire.

I watch them blow the white junk to put out the fire all over my car.  Hey, isn’t that stuff sort of toxic?

Looking in the car, it was barely effected, but when I turned on the vents  a bunch blew out on me and my two young kids.  Great.  Sylvie starts coughing.

Out we go, ready for this bad day to be over and we stop on the freeway.  Awful traffic.  Only about an hour from home.  Only an hour with a talkative preschooler.  It was one of those rare times when I had to just ask A to not talk.  Consoled myself with reminders that at least it’s only tooth decay, and hey well, I did just get a little job so we will have a way to pay for her dental debacle.

I never realized jelly beans were so expensive!  And, I am glad that day is in the past.  But I sometimes wish these days came with warnings.

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Zhenya says:

    Wow, what a day! I couldn’t help but smile while reading this. It probably wasn’t funny at all then. Congrats on the job though!

  2. mrs t says:

    Oh, man! What a day! I can just imagine watching all of it unfurl- the fire extinguisher gunk all over your car, eating pizza, thinking how you’ll pay for the teeth-fixin…
    So sorry you’re going through this! (not to mention your poor girlie)

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