Who knew that hypopharyngeal cancer would lead to so much dentistry? It’s like the lead up to the Super Bowl, so many stage productions, tailgate parties, and d-list celebrity appearances. Only missing the fun, parties and celebrities.
The oral surgeon said “just a little pressure now,” and then proceeded to yank my unwilling molar out of my skull, completely against its wishes. So-called “pressure” turned into my body-clenching pain, and it took every bit of zen and willpower in my mind to not jump out of the dental recliner and run. Tooth number 18, or the back, bottom, left molar, did not want to come out and play today. I shudder to think of how surgeries and extractions went in the days before anesthesia.
I’m riding an ocean current that I can’t swim against. The ride has been determined and I either: drop into the tidal wave and (hopefully) end up on the shore, battered and bruised; or tread water and accept my fate. Let the tide take me where it wants to go.
And then sometimes I wonder whether or not the destination is even worth the fight.