He came home from his first day of school with a swollen lip and an inflamed gum, and I thanked the universe that this was one of his pediatrician’s “late days” and I’d be able to get him in to see his doctor. A short visit later we had a scrip for an antibiotic in hand, with the assurance that it might take a few days to see the swelling go down, and that everything would be all right (our ped is very nurturing).
Except, it wasn’t.
The stars aligned, and the next day I happened to have a cleaning with the dentist I share with Justin, who after I told my story of the lip and inflamed gum around the capped tooth he broke over a year ago looked at me and said “Kim, I am 99% certain he’ll need a root canal, and he’s probably in pain.”
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Since I was being flossed at the time I didn’t have a vocal response, but I sure thought one, and trust me it was only four letters long.
Justin requires being sedated for extreme dental procedures and x-rays so fortunately getting him in to see his secondary dentist wasn’t difficult, and after racing through two counties several hours later my boy was evaluated, and the practitioner verified my dentist’s claim.
The dentist who checked him out wasn’t the lovely man who’d put on his cap months ago, but he seemed decent, didn’t bat an eye when I told him an x-ray wasn’t happening today and he’d have to make the diagnosis cold. As he explained the coming procedure he sent the assistant out to get me a date and time, and I listened carefully to him (actually understood a lot of it, maybe I missed my calling) and waited for the date when I could give my boy some relief.
She came back with September 23rd, two-and-a-half weeks later. Or, I could bring him back two hours later and they’d do a root canal on my severely autistic child with him fully conscious, using only Novacaine.
People, I kid you not.
Perhaps it was the thought of my kid being in pain for most of September, or the fact that he wasn’t eating anything. Perhaps it was the oh-so-indifferent look on the dentist’s face that sent me over the edge, or the assistant avoiding eye contact with me. Perhaps it was because in the last two weeks we’ve had Justin home for ten days, the stomach virus, the flu, and the death of our washer/dryer within hours of each other (apparently they mate for life like swans).
Or if I’m being totally honest perhaps it was the thought of an entire extra week of summer with no “Kim time”.
I’m not sure what tipped me over, but I’m guessing it was all of the above.
And quite honestly, I just lost it.
I played the autism card (and the severe autism card at that). I told them he’d starve to death. I reminded him the kid can’t talk and tell us he’s in pain, and that I guessed even liberal doses of Tylenol wouldn’t work for two weeks. Truly, I went batshit crazy as I tried to hold my thirteen-year-old who’s almost as tall as me now in their damn reclining chair so he wouldn’t run out and rearrange their office (although I wanted him too).
And wouldn’t you know, the assistant ran like hell out of the room and came back literally three minutes later with a time and date less than 48 hours away.
I am not indifferent to the plight of the patient who got bumped. I’m assuming it wasn’t an emergency procedure (um, like my son’s), but I’m sure it’s an inconvenience to reschedule, and if you’re out there reading this, I’m sorry. Chez McCafferty rescheduling is one of my worst nightmares, and truly, I regret you got the short end of the stick.
Perhaps it will be some solace to you that at least my kid can eat now.
The upshot is we had a different dentist do the procedure two days later who was fabulous (he gave me his personal cell number and told me to call him over the weekend(!) if I had any questions), and by Saturday afternoon my boy was his old self, and frankly pretty bored of being home.
At this point I can say I shared that sentiment.
I have to say usually I shy away from conflict when I can. Perhaps it’s being the oldest, but I’m generally a peace-maker, and still think people should at least entertain my point- of view (I know, I’m insane) when I have a disagreement with someone. I realized as I drove Justin home from the dentist that day that I haven’t had a good knockdown, drag-out, autism hissy in years.
And ladies and gentlemen, it felt good.
Over the years I’ve had to let it rip on doctors, therapists, sitters, Early Intervention providers, and just generally ignorant people at large in four different states (and a commonwealth!), but we now have a posse of good people and live in a town where for the most part people get it, so my skills have lain dormant for a while.
But I have to tell you, it was great to know they’re still there.
He will need further procedures on this tooth in the decades to come, and when they mentioned his fifties and I remembered his father and I might not be there for that one of course the old dread of his life post ours reared its ugly head. I mentally turned it around and hoped that a tooth issue would be one of the worst health problems he’ll face, which I know is wishful thinking on my part but I had to drive, so I banished it all to the back of my brain.
But for now, my son is his smiling, loving, incandescent self. There are so many things I can’t make happen for him, but I could fix this.
And his old mom’s still got some spunk in her yet.
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