We cope, we hope and we give thanks
Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers. I think I can safely say that this is going to be the oddest Thanksgiving in our collective memories – and hopefully by this time next year we’ll be on a more even keel than this Little Ship (sic) of Horrors known as 2020.
So, grinning and bearing it – as that is all we can really do – what are we thankful for?
I’m thankful to have a roof over my head, food on my table, a loving family, good friends, a great job, pretty good health – oh, and two cats.
I’m also positively pathetically grateful, as I write, that I’m over the nasty hump of a root canal.
As you may remember I’m a “white-knuckled” dentist goer – and I’ve reached that age now at which I feel being upfront about it works in my favor, rather than surprise everyone with an adverse reaction mid-procedure.
This particular fang went haywire six days ago, and my dentist having retired, I had to scramble to find a new one, in one big, fat hurry.
You really don’t know you’re alive until you have toothache, do you? You can have a pain in the knee, rub on some liniment and down a couple of aspirin and you can cope. Have a molar go out on you and it gets its revenge for bad flossing or whatever you did to the poor thing by taking over your entire skull. Even your eyeballs end up throbbing in tempo.
Finding a dentist on the spot in these Covid-times proved a tad tricky – but I lucked onto one who is also close by and a specialist in haywire fangs. Presenting myself to his very friendly nurse, rather than exchange pleasantries about the weather, or the inconvenience of wearing masks, I introduced myself rather as one does at an AA meeting (or so I’ve heard).
“Hello, my name is Annie, and I’m a white-knuckler and a gagger, please be forewarned.”
Well off I went through to the torture chamber, and I will confess that despite my throbbing tooth and the promise of root canal, I left with a modicum of hope and a script for antibiotics.
So yesterday was RC Day for me. Naturally the drugs had done the trick, and I asked – hope against hope – if the root canal was no longer necessary as I was pain free. Nice try, Annie. No deal.
I was numbed and the fang isolated with a clamp and a most attractive purple rubber mouth-isolating sheet, and short of shoving a tennis ball in my mouth, I had all the possible array of instruments and sucky things in my cake hole. There being no arms on the dentist chair, my ability to white-knuckle was removed from my repertoire. so I adopted the "lie back and think of England" approach.
And guess what? It really was all quite painless, albeit inconvenient, and I’m sure I have sailed through this procedure relatively unscathed and with a more positive frame of mind to the profession.
So thanks, doc – and a happy Thanksgiving to you.
Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.