Accepting Impermanence

One of my molars lost its crown last week. Diagnosis: advanced decay in the tooth under the porcelain, I think due to a buggered root canal but no one at the dentist’s office was saying. Prognosis: not good. Resolution: yank the tooth and build a bridge between the flanking teeth. Since I’m all for keeping as many teeth for as long as I can, I’ve committed to the plan and the first step happened yesterday: the tooth was extracted.

No one likes dental work—if they do, they need more help than a dentist can give them. I have spent years getting over my childhood, but the last tooth I had pulled was wildly painful (and also the result of a root canal gone bad). It’s hard to get past it until you get past it, right? Fortunately, my recent adoption of the “be here now” and “worry is a waste of time” policies helped immensely in getting me through the wait time over the weekend. I hardly thought at all about what awaited on Monday, and when I did, I acknowledged the anxiety, then boxed it up and set it aside.

On Monday morning, however, Ter read my mind and handed me Your True Home—the Everyday Wisdom of Thich Nhat Hanh. I sat with the book in my hands and asked myself: “What wisdom will help me today?” I then performed my thumbing ritual, eventually opening the book to page 361:

“Offering Flowers to the Buddah”

When I began this little ritual a few weeks back, I would often look at a heading and think, Seriously? I have learned to restrain judgement (and dismissal) until I’ve read the piece—as I did yesterday morning.

It was all about the importance of accepting impermanence. Nothing lasts forever. Everything changes. Accepting impermanence enables us to suffer less and enjoy life more. I’m paraphrasing, of course, but the nugget in this piece really helped me. I was upset at losing the tooth because I was afraid of how much it would hurt to have it pulled. Soooo … accept that the tooth has to go. Accept that it will be painful (pain is inevitable; suffering is optional), but this too shall pass. Breathe. And know that all will be well.

It took 45 minutes and four, count ʼem four, needles to numb me sufficiently for him to do the job. When I was finally frozen solid, I closed my eyes, felt a little pressure, heard a little scraping, thought, Good bye tooth, I’m letting you go—and it was done. No pain, no noise … and a lot of bloody gauze. Yikes, recovery is the brutal part.

It too shall pass.