October 3, 2017

I have never been a fan of needles. I don't like dentists. I don't like pain. 
     And look where we find ourselves. In the middle of needles, dentists and pain.
     It's all hands on deck for Judy, Len says, and that comforts him. We arrive at 9 a.m. and there are no other patients; only me. For the next four hours, extractions, implants and bone grafts are center stage, all in a tiny mouth barely big enough for me. 
     This has been the day I have dreaded most. And this is the day I find myself feeling prayers all the way from Georgia. I guess you never really know how many people love you until you find yourself in a predicament. I feel them and they have made a difference in this week, this day. For this, I am truly grateful. 

     I meet my anesthesiologist, Dr. Susana Quesada Vindas, who assures me she knows everything about me. She pats the chart she holds in her lap and I begin the first of my crying escapades. I want to jump into her arms and let her sooth me with hugs. I hold back because she has serious work to do. 
     The young doctors as always come get me with a smile and outstretched hand. Len and I again get the corner office with the view. 
    Len stands behind me as the bee hive starts. He takes pictures, and of course the travel writer/photographer selfie, and he never feels pressure to leave or is even asked to move. At the moment when things get real, he leaves. Dr. Meza gives me a few words, and then the lady of the hour does her work. 
     I don't remember much after that, only that randomly, I would wiggle. At that point, I would feel her hold my hand and inject into the IV. I was always on the edge, aware of what was going on but not feeling the pain. 

     On my right hand, the IV (which she got with one stick, another fear); on my left hand, my lokai bracelet. I remember picking it up for a couple of bucks on a press trip. It's not at all pretty, but symbolic of my life as a whole. It's white and black round baubles: white = water from Mt Everest (Sometimes you're on the top of the world. Stay humble.); black = mud from The Dead Sea (Sometimes you've hit a low. Stay hopeful.). At this moment, I am both. 

     Dr. Meza walks out to Len about three hours later, assuring him of success and I would be waking soon. Len found himself on the end of his first very own crying episode. My waking "soon" became an hour later, and then afterwards, they reattached a crown and the day was over. 
     Tomorrow, we're back at 9 a.m. for root canals. It's always something . . .