11.13.03 sympathy
I was sitting here merrily typing away when I smelled blood – not unusual when I’m working – but then I tasted it. So I went and looked in the mirror and the gums near my front teeth were gushing. Blood was bubbling around the base of my teeth and pouring into my mouth.
This would not be strange if I had been eating something hot, or flossing with extreme vigor. But I was just sitting here, typing. I had a glass of water before going back to my tasks.
A few minutes later I checked the phone messages.
The school nurse had called to say that my sweet little boy had an “accident”
What she actually meant was: some other kid smashed his face into a brick wall.
His front teeth were broken, destroyed, he was bleeding copiously, and I needed to pick him up faster than the long drive could get me there.
I rushed across town to collect him, then rushed downtown to the only dentist who could see us in an emergency, the fulminating horror of the situation worsening with every second. My child was assaulted.
It wasn’t the moment to wonder if the school would address the situation (or if his protective older sister would extract vengeance before I could pick her up). It was not the right time to flinch or falter as I drove fast down the roads I associate with my own childhood medical trauma.
I just needed to get him to an emergency appointment, fast. Which did not mean a nice pediatric dentist with clowns on the walls and a treasure box and stickers at the end. Instead, it meant whoever could see us.
And the clinic offered no pretense of kindness or courtesy: three staff members held my sensitive baby down as he screamed and writhed, then painfully extracted three wrecked teeth.
The dentist said the damage may be permanent. There is no way to know, until his adult teeth grow in – if they ever do.
Afterward we walked to the car, tears and blood drying on his face, a plastic box of shattered tooth fragments in his hand. I promised the Tooth Fairy would be extra nice. I helped him settle in his booster seat, put on his walkman, and start a new book on tape.
Then I drove home, crying silently.