Emmy & Bea lovin the rain.
As I mentioned previously, Jonah needs some major orthodontia. One look at his x-ray shows all sorts of permanent teeth desperately trying to get down, only to be blocked by baby teeth that have long overstayed their welcome. Georgia has lost more teeth than Jonah. So we were refered to an endodontist and had our appointment today to get 6 teeth pulled. Jonah was really stressed as he's never even had a cavity (due to good genetics not hygene, his front teeth look like Yedis). I, on the other hand, have had every dental procedure known to man. In 4th grade I had braces, neck gear, head gear, rubberbands, multiple teeth pulled; a root canal in jr hi; another root canal, a veneer, a front tooth pulled and a post screwed into the bone for an implant. So while I hate hate hate needles for blood work & shots (I nearly fainted when I got my ears pierced), I am very desensitized to dental stuff--and can I just say, dentists LOVE me because of it.
So I go over everything with Joe, how they'll use a long Q-tip with numbing stuff on it before they even get a needle near him, explain that he'll feel pressure, not pain, etc. etc. Poor guy is shaking when we get there and insists that I stay in the room with him. Dr. F was awesome. She uses nitrous oxide, aka "laughing gas." It was out of a movie. Jonah was giggling and laid back and waving his hands around, telling us "these so don't feel like my hands!" I love intoxicated Jonah. He handled it all so well, needing to hold my hand only for the last 2 teeth. I just chatted with him, making sure not to look into his bloody scary mouth. Pretty soon Dr. F was loving me too, because, like the fish in the tank on Nemo, I can speak "dental." Last month when I was visiting my mom she had to have an emergency root canal and I stayed by her side thru it all, schmoozing with the doctor. He even rotated screens so I could see how two of my mom's roots had merged into one. I was the Belle of the maxillofacial Ball.
Before I knew it this morning, Jonah was done and as the doctor is telling me about changing gauze and possible left over shards of roots, I yawn. And I see spots. And I know I am going to faint. Or vomit. Or quite possibly both. I stand and casually ask where the bathroom is and Dr. F sees right thru me. I think my green pallor gave me away. She won't let me leave, gives me a cup of water and says, "This is why we prefer the parents stay in the waiting room." I have gone from Best Patient Parent to Biggest Pain in the Ass in an instant. The water doesn't help and before I can come to my senses they have shuffled poor Jonah, still bloody from his surgery onto the hard chair and put ME in the big reclining dental contraption, have a cool washcloth on my forehead and are taking my blood pressure. I wanted to die. Hello--I'm supposed to be the parent and now Jonah has his hand on my ankle and is looking really stressed, all traces of laughing gas gone. I was mortified. But I was equally mystified. If they'd been stitching up a wound or lancing something, I'd get it. I freak out at purposeful incisions into flesh. I'd rather give birth than give blood. And that's not an exaggeration. But this is DENTAL stuff. MY stuff. I'm blase' about it. I laugh in the face of extractions. Root canal, schmoot canal. But for whatever reason, once Jonah was fine, I fell apart.
Once I was steady on my feet I took us to McDonalds and got us breakfast. I was fine after that, reinforcing my belief that there are few ills a McMuffin & Diet Coke can't cure. Anyhow, I hope none of the girls need oral surgery. Either Dave can take them, or they can go in the sterile room alone. Or if they really really really need me there, I'll go and bring a Big Gulp and prayer.