Gum surgery on
Tuesday. Varying reports assure me that it won’t be pleasant, but I’ll live
through it. The specialist prescribed an oral sedative to get us both through
the 2 hour procedure – the bonus is that I liked her right away, which makes it
easier to trust her while I’m tripping out on Triazolam – and I’m armed with
antibiotics and painkillers for the post-game show, but once it’s done, I might
be offline for a few days. I’m thinking about treating myself to that coveted
bottle of dark spiced rum as a medicinal aid.
As with most
people, my pathological terror of dentists began in childhood, with a
particularly traumatic episode occurring when I was twelve years old. I’ve
never truly gotten over that incident, but given my desire to keep my own teeth for as long as possible and the benefit of dental insurance through
work, I’ve been good about regular visits. I’ve even breezed through fillings
and a few crowns, though I will die happy if I never need a third root canal.
I’d rather have another kidney stone than another root canal. Before I arrived
for my last cleaning appointment (on Halloween, of all things), my little voice
hinted that something might be amiss and sure enough, the hygienist found some
decay on the root of a molar that’s holding up one end of my bridge. It’s in an
awkward spot, with too much gum in the way, hence the specialist. A
consultation was booked for the following Tuesday and the long wait was on.
Given my dental
phobia, this sort of news could have flung me into the pit of despair and
ruined my weekend. A few years ago, I would have let that happen. A few years
ago, I was unaware of my power to control what once would have controlled me.
My mind.
Right away, I
felt myself spiralling into the paralyzing hell of fear, dark memories, and
anxiety of what will surely be a grisly procedure in the hands of a complete
stranger. Ter, who had somehow managed to get a parking ticket the same day,
was tempted to funk out with me, just when we were planning to have a magical
Halloween weekend! Yep, it was bleak at our place for a few hours. Then we
decided to put Tuesday aside and focus on the immediate weekend – to be present
in each moment, to find joy, and to have the weekend we’d planned. Our strategy
worked. We had a marvellous Halloween experience, the weekend was great, and my
consultation went swimmingly ... except that gum work really is required, of
course.
I’ve learned,
though it’s not yet second nature, that worry is a waste of energy. Prepare,
yes. Worry, no. There’s absolutely no point in foreseeing the worst. It’s
unproductive and interferes with one’s potential for joy in the moment.
Besides, the worst may not happen, and if it doesn’t, how disappointing to have
put all that effort into ... nothing.
If the worst
does happen, I’ll deal with it at the time. I’m not saying the gumby
appointment hasn’t crept across my mind. It has. It’s even tried to disrupt my
sleep once or twice, picking at the fear in hope of immobilizing me. I’ve
recognized it, acknowledged it, then sent it on its way. Talk to me on Tuesday
and I may give you a different story, but at least I’ll be freaked out closer
to popping the pre-surgery sedative and have spent the weekend doing what I
planned instead of lying cornered in the fetal position ... unless the Flyers
were on Hockey Night in Canada, in which case I would have been fetal
anyway. Until Tuesday, however, I am being here now.
And this moment looks pretty good.
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