I need to get my wisdom teeth pulled. When I mention this to a friend, she says, "Don't people usually do that when they're younger?"
Sadly, yes. I've been hanging on to these choppers for more than twenty years.
My wisdom teeth erupted when I was in my mid-twenties. At the time I was juggling three jobs. I had no dentist and no insurance, but I did extract some free advice from a dentist who hung out at the lounge where I tended bar. He told me not to worry since my teeth were not impacted, and ordered himself another beer.
Time passed. Eventually, I could afford actual dental care, but still I was hesitant. Okay, I was afraid. I told myself that by keeping my teeth, I was embracing a "natural" approach to dental health. I found a dentist who didn't pressure me. My wisdom teeth were fine for a long time, but then, right after I turned forty, they suddenly weren't. I'll spare you the ugly details -- suffice it to say that even straight, fully-erupted wisdom teeth can eventually cause a ruckus.
"Block out two weeks for recovery, " my dentist warned. "People your age don't bounce back that well."
People my age?! Two weeks?! Those words terrified me. Who was going to take care of my three manic children? My husband and I have no family nearby to help us. Anxiety about the pain, excessive Googling of "risks of wisdom tooth removal," worry over the family logistics, and just managing the flurry of daily life allowed me to put off dealing with the problem.
I stalled for two more years.
Then, out of the blue, I shocked myself. I scheduled the procedure without any drama. My husband arranged to work from home for a couple days. Plans for the kids were set. After twenty years of procrastination, I felt ready overnight. I'll get through this, I told myself; John and the kids will deal. I imagined a few days of sleeping, reading and watching movies, possibly even losing a couple of pounds on the soup-and-smoothie cleanse. I thought my new matter-of-fact bravery about something that wasn't even that big of a deal meant I was making some spiritual progress.
Then it all fell apart.
Last night, I had to take my nine-year-old daughter Didi to the ER, after a fall at soccer practice left her sobbing and unable to move her right arm. My husband felt sure she was fine, but I sensed something was really wrong. Five xrays later, it turns out we were both right: the arm was not broken, but the shoulder was badly sprained. Didi trudged off to school today in a sling.
The removal of my wisdom teeth was supposed to happen tomorrow morning. After the ER run, John assured me that he could still handle one incapacitated wife, one injured child on narcotic pain meds, and two more wild children, plus homework, school, soccer, meals and his paying job. I opted to push off the procedure until January 6. I'll be taking Didi to the pediatrician for a follow up on her arm instead.
Am I really just a coward? Is family life really that hard? Ask me how many teeth I have on January 7.




















































