When Nate was not more than a week old, the pediatrician, after measuring his sweet little head, said,
"I don't want to alarm you, but I'm not sure his head is measuring right. He may -- and it's a small chance -- have a malformation with his skull. It's going to take images to determine if this is the case, and if it is the good news is that it's reparable by surgery but it's a small chance. Don't panic. Don't go online."
Within an hour (this was before the iPhone), we'd researched everything available online about the condition. Dad found the best specialist. I cried. And then, a few weeks later, we found out everything was perfect, I cried again, broken open by the realization that all my planning meant nothing.
Welcome to parenthood.
We've been fortunate to avoid major mishaps with him (not us). He's had so few fevers I can count them on one hand. Aside from viruses and ear infections, we've been fortunate. So when something goes awry -- more than the usual runny nose -- it screws with my equilibrium.I can deal with my own issues -- which there are plenty of -- but feel the air knocked out of my chest when my little boy is hurting.
So it was a major challenge to my system last week when he experienced a traumatic visit to the dentist for an appointment we'd put off as long as possible. One of his bottom teeth came in weak, and actually fell out on its own long before it should have. The issue was that the root remained, and our dentist, a great pediatric specialist, recommended that we have it removed to prevent infection.
All of this logic, and prevention, and straightforward thinking went out the window last week when, while holding him in a bare hug in a tiny dentist chair, six people had to help me keep him still just so the dentist could administer the liquid anesthesia.
They were as kind as they could be, and he needed the meds, but damn, this kid is like a heavyweight, with a grip that would threaten even the most serious competitor.
"What you have is a very determined, strong little boy," said the dentist.
I apologized profusely, made some lame joke about requirements for martial arts to be a pediatric dentist, and gritted my teeth.
After suffering considerable dental trauma as a kid (and later as an adult) I remembered the feeling, and now was subjecting my own son to the same thing. But there wasn't much of a choice -- proceed at the dentist office or take him to the hospital for general anesthesia, with a risk that seemed to outweigh the benefits of the simple procedure.
They took the tooth, and handed me the boy, who looked at me with a deep mistrust that I'd never seen.
"The dentist is a bad man." Ug.
Three days later kiddo was crying in pain and refused to eat even the most soft and bland foods, clutching his mouth and refusing antibiotics and pain meds. This being the Fourth of July weekend, it was the absolute worst time to have such an emergency, with both our dentists out of town (one out of the country). For three days we watched and waited and pleaded him to eat something, take his medicine -- all of this without forcing him in the way he'd been forced days before.
His lips were chapped, his coloring pale. We were scared. Nothing -- not pleading, or straight-talk, or promises of the super duper new tricked out Buzz Lightyear, would convince him to eat or take his medicine. We went online, freaked out about the possibilities. Jaw infection spread to bone?
Then four days later, our dentist's partner, back in town, met us on a day when the office was closed and gently took a look. Nate was crying, and I wiped the tears from his cheeks while Dr. T. spoke in the softest tone, looking into this scared boy's mouth. Within seconds (at least once he could get past the screaming) the dentist called it: the pain was from a rather large ulcer. His tooth was fine. He was hurting, but it would go away.
On the way home we got him a chocolate milkshake and fries, which he gobbled up the second he got home. Then he asked to chase fireflies under the July sky. My worries: about having to take him to the hospital before he starved, about having made the "right" decision about having the tooth pulled, the days of pain and fatigue and lack of sleep all starting to fade.
People like to tell you how resilient kids are, and they share their stories demonstrating that. But it doesn't take a lot of the edge off when it's your child. On day four of this little journey I watched mine eat fries as I started to fade on the couch.
A week later the dull headache sets in. I'm at work in a marathon meeting, rubbing my temples and drinking green tea. I am tough. But when I walk out the door a co-worker says, "feel better." Huh? I'm not sick.
Just tired.
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