Chronicles of Caregiving: Wisdom Teeth Surgery 2

So, here's what happened on Friday. Sophie had her upper two wisdom teeth removed by her beloved dentist, a little more than two years after she had removed the lower ones. The great great grandson of Albert Einstein was the anesthesiologist, but I have to tell you that knowing such genes are taking care of your child doesn't mitigate the strain or make the PTSDish any less. Both dentist and doctor were amazing, though, and when I drove Sophie home I felt confident that her mouth would recover. It looks like her mouth is recovering, but she is having so many seizures that she's wiped out, and I -- well, I -- well, it isn't about me, is it? I've had some dark nights of the soul of late, and I keep going back to breathing and realizing that it's only a moment that one has to get through in the end, and then the next. Moments don't pile up like years if you let them go. Besides, there are comrades who sit in the darkness with you, by other bedsides, in hospitals and homes, who've done it over and over for moments and moments and years and more years.

It's weird how my inner sense of absurdity kicks in just when the universe is at its most implacable and cruel. Hallelujah.

Dr. Klein and Dr. Einstein have been checking in regularly via text, phone and email -- this is the kind of care you get when you don't have dental insurance and go to a private dentist and are subsidized by generous and loving relatives. That I'm grateful is an understatement, and if I could close my eyes and make it happen for every kid with special healthcare needs, I would.