A Hug from Old Dad

It's easily been one month since I felt the last twinge of tooth pain, marking the end of a week of misery, sleepless nights and long days where I knew what was in store for me every minute of the day and didn't know for sure there'd be an end to it.  At least with tightened braces, root canals and pulled wisdom teeth, all in my distant memory, I knew the pain would eventually subside and had a general idea of when that would be.  The tooth pain that inexplicably popped up in March wasn't like that.  Its source was unexplained.  It was familiar only early on until it got worse and decided to stick around.  It hurt every... minute... of... the... day and gave me no sense for when it would be leaving.

I battled that week.  I battled to pretend it wasn't there.  I battled just to ... make... it... better.  I took more ibuprofen than I should have.  I went to bed with my jaw resting on an ice pack and a heat pack just to sooth it for a few minutes with the hopes I'd fall asleep for a few hours.  I paid an emergency visit to a new dentist near work, had x-rays taken and accepted their explanation that everything looked good and I must be grinding my teeth at night.

"Are you stressed?" the dentist asked.

I answered honestly, "Yes, but I have been for months now."  Why would it be any different now?

It wasn't the first time a dentist used this as the explanation for some random tooth pain I was experiencing.  This time, though, the pain was bad enough that I got fitted for and ordered a custom mouth guard to ease the effects of this supposed grinding.  I left that first dentist visit with a hope that the pain would end in a couple of days, once I started using the mouth guard, and a plan just to  keep popping the ibuprofen to survive the days in between.

It's not that the pain got worse; it's just that it got unbearable.  So when I returned for my mouth guard two days later, I shared this with the dentist and found myself being examined by more dentists and taking 3-D x-rays and being told they could just pull the tooth but didn't really want to because that MIGHT NOT BE THE PROBLEM.  Oh, how I wish it had been the problem.  I could live without the tooth.  The source seemed to be my root canal tooth, but the root canal still looked good.  There appeared to be no inflammation and no infection.  We collectively couldn't pull the trigger on pulling it because it SEEMED healthy.  So I left that day with my mouth guard, a prescription for an antibiotic in case it was an infection they couldn't see, a prescription for codeine to help with pain and a promise from the head dentist that he'd have some dentist friends look at my x-rays to see if they saw anything that might explain my tooth pain.

They didn't.  By Friday, that head dentist was calling me and telling me that I should consult an independent specialist, an endodontist, to see if he might have some thoughts.

After calls to three dentists' offices, I got in to see an endodontist near my home that Saturday.  He, too, could not find an explanation for my tooth pain (which was still going strong).  I cried when he told me this.  Would there be an end?  He told me to try something different, though -- I was to lay off the ibuprofen as I was taking too much and would give myself an ulcer, and he prescribed for a me a steroid, I can't even remember why but only remember being hopeful because it was something different.  I think the steroid would help the antibiotic do its thing and would help with inflammation.  And I was to continue to use my mouth guard in case I was grinding at night.  I still didn't think I was grinding, but I'd've slept standing up or in the backyard that night if I knew it would relieve my pain.

I slept through the night on Saturday night and felt better on Sunday, better enough to take one codeine pill, no ibuprofen and take my steroid and antibiotic religiously.  By Monday -- one week later -- the pain seemed to be gone, though it took me a good week to admit that it very likely was and another week to  chew any food on the right side of my mouth.

As awful as the pain was and as much misery I was in, it is very difficult for me to remember exactly how that pain felt that week.  I remember it being quite possibly the worst pain I had ever felt.  Just as it did to my recollection of childbirth, my brain has wiped away any physical sense for how painful that tooth was. It amazes me how one's mind works to protect one against oneself.

But the kicker is this: what I do remember very vividly is something that happened when I was smack dab in the middle of my week of tooth pain hell when I was tired and sad beyond what is familiar to me.  My dad was at our house, paying us an uncommon mid-week visit.  He had read bedtime stories to the Leatherkids, and we were in the kitchen making small talk.  I told him about my tooth, and I started to cry.  I don't cry much in front of him anymore, so it wasn't familiar to him.  Without skipping a beat, he wrapped his arms around me; and at that moment, I wasn't his grown, adult daughter with a career, a house and a family of her own and he wasn't the grandfather to my kids.  Rather, I was his little girl who was suffering and needed a long, comforting hug from her dad.  It was so soothing and perfectly delivered.  I remember exactly how it felt.  I don't remember him saying much, if he said anything at all.  He didn't need to.  His hug spoke for him -- it'll be okay, Little Girl... you'll get through this, and you'll be okay.  It was just what I needed.

Turns out, his hug was right -- I am okay.

Dear Ella

I started this in early March, got into a writing rut and just never finished it.  It's a bit outdated now but too far along not to finish and share.  I hope it still works...

Dear My 5-year-old, Ella,

I watched you sleep the night of your birthday party for just a few minutes before I finally went to bed myself.  It's not uncommon for me to stare at you in your sleeping state and marvel in your mere existence; but this time... this time, I sat on the edge of your bed and just watched you and took you in after a full day of people celebrating you.

You were so still, so calm and relaxed, so peaceful.  That you had spent the better part of your bedtime routine shouting at the world and upset with the consequences of doing so didn't even show.  You were getting the rest you clearly needed and doing it well, like most things you do.

I stroked your forehead with my hand a few times, the first time to move a couple of long strands of your beautiful blonde hair away from your face, the others because Grandma would do that to me when I was your age (and older); and it was just natural -- I vividly remember the feeling of her hand pressing down on my forehead not softly but not strong, either, just enough to have a soothing effect on me.  It's not that you needed soothing that night.  I think I needed to do it for you.  I needed the soothing, and my hand on your forehead was my way to get it.

I thought about the day and the things that had made me sad about the day.  Imagine that -- I was sad on the day we were celebrating you turning five.  I thought about how I felt as I sat on the bench on the side of the pool, noting the kids who were at your party.  Only two of your little friends were there, and only three even responded.  Many of your cousins were there, which was nice; but they have to be there, not to diminish their love for you and their significance in your life.  Only 2 friends, one of whom I barely even know.

I started thinking and wondering why that is... why only two friends?  How is it that Cal had 15+ kids at his 5th birthday party, none of whom were even cousins, and you only had two?

Maybe it's entirely explained by your experience at daycare -- really, school -- being so different from your brother's.  His was so easy and natural.  The school was vibrant.  People were excited to be there and proud to have their kids enrolled in school there.  There were so many kids, and they were so close.  We knew all of the kids and many of their parents, and I don't even really know how that happened.  Maybe if I spend some time thinking about it, I could figure that out; but it doesn't matter.  Cal's experience was different. 

Your experience has just not been as good, not necessarily from the start, but certainly for the past 2-3 years.  Many teachers have left, unhappy with the school's administration.  I'd need two hands to count your little friends who have left, mostly unannounced, for a start-up school down the road.  They, too, were unhappy with the school's administration and high teacher turnover rate.

We thought about leaving; but your relationship with Ms. Tawania is so strong, so positive, and so fruitful that we felt like we had to stay to see that through.  She's wonderful.  That is one thing that you have in common with Cal -- we credit Ms. Ally for Cal being more than ready for Kindergarten, and I expect to be saying the same about Ms. Tawania and you in the Fall.

Given that gap, I keep wondering if somehow I'm failing you.  I feel like it's my job, not to make your friends for you, but to put you in positions for you to make friends, to cultivate friendships.  And that's just not happening.  It's not happening at school, and I'm not finding an alternative for you.  You've made several pleas to have a playdate, and I just never acted on them.  I'm sorry I never did set up that playdate with Colton Stewart... or Keira... or Wrigley... or Aryn... and most recently Ms. Tawania herself.  You asked me, and I didn't.

It's not that I didn't or don't want for you to have a playdate.  I want more than anything for you to have friends.  Setting one up would be a simple email exchange with a fellow mom.  But a playdate at your age still requires small talk on my part, and I'm not great at that, nor do I enjoy it.  I know it'll most likely end up being two hours of an unshared discomfort where I can't and don't want to match the stories of your friend's mom about your friend's many activities and familiarity with all of the goings on at school.

I know, you're five.  I don't remember who my friends were when I was five, if I even had any friends.  It's right around when we moved to Illinois, so it's very likely that I didn't!  
I started making friends that stuck when I got into grade school, and I'm sure that'll happen for you, too.  That you don't have a lot of friends or a single close friend now is probably not any big deal.

You were so happy on the day of your birthday party, and I should have focused on that.  I saw it.  I watched you follow the instructions for the pool games to a T, better than even your older cousins and brother.  I was so proud of you.  I watched you swim -- you're such a good swimmer!  I watched you try to dance to the "Whip/Nae Nae" song and laugh while you did.  I watched you smile... and smile that beautiful, toothless smile some more.  I know you enjoyed yourself and probably didn't notice or care about the absence of friends.

I'm excited for you to start Kindergarten in the Fall. I think you and I both need it -- a new start, new faces, new opportunities to make friends.  I promise to make sure that happens.  The world deserves to experience you.

Anyway, I love you and hope I'm doing right by you, Ellie.

Mommy