Pain in the Dentist's Chair

Between Katie's birthday yesterday and my wedding anniversary tomorrow, there are certainly things to be celebrating. However, I need to recount a most painful experience I had yesterday while visiting the dentist. If I ignored doing this, I would not be true to the intent of this blog, so onward I go. I NEED to process....

Yesterday was the first time I've visited the dentist since Laurie's death. I need to be more specific. To be 100% precise, the last time I sat in my dentist's chair was 5:00 p.m. on Wednesday, March 2, 2005. Let that soak in for a minute. When I had been in that chair -- it was probably the exact same moment that Laurie was shivering on the cold planetarium concrete, preparing to lower her body into the icy waters of Lake Michigan.

By the time my dentist was poking and prodding for completely insignificant cavities last March, my sister was wrestling with duct tape, taking off white shoes, and probably bawling her eyes out. The irony -- the memory -- the thoughts -- almost too much for me to open all over again.

Every second yesterday while I sat in that same vinyl chair my mind was consumed with Laurie and those moments. At any second I feared I would burst out in tears (probably freaking out the hygienist in the process). But I didn't. I kept strong -- looking up at the same dingy gray ventilation fan that I had stared at just six months earlier. "I can get through this," I told myself.

Then my dentist walked in. I asked how his plans to relocate the dental office were going. "If this doesn't go through, I'll shoot myself." He jokingly answered. That was it. I just about lost it. I was crushed. In my head I vowed to never joke about suicide again. My dentist had no idea how devastating his words just were. No clue. I can't fault him for that, but I suffered the effects.

I sat taut in the chair, just waiting for the appointment to end. "If I can just get through this one, the next visit will be so much easier," I kept telling myself. As soon as I got out of there and sat in the car, I let it go. I broke down -- probably for the first time in two months. All the pain rushed back in -- the scab had been pulled loose, and there I was. Ouch.

I was able to settle down much faster, however. This was different. Within maybe 10 minutes, I was already moving toward my next adventures: Brooke's cross country meet, then more Katrina volunteering.... I didn't even share this story with Cheryl or the girls. But, this morning I knew I needed to write about it. It represents another chapter, another memory. I need to process.

I'll never understand all this. While I lowered myself into a dentist chair, my sister lowered herself into freezing dark water. It makes zero sense. The pain is back.

greg