Loss of a Loved One

The 10th of September was a significant day for me this year. I lost a loved one that had been with me most of my life. I had to have a tooth removed. It was the first time I’ve lost one of those dear ones since I had my wisdom teeth removed by the U.S. Navy when I was 19.

I noticed when I got there that some things had changed in the outer office. There was a new receptionist who asked me to fill out new forms. I wanted to say that nothing has changed with me. That I had been coming here for years and my information was the same as always. I took the clipboard from her though and filled in the bare essentials. She seemed okay with that. I think part of that process is just an acknowledgement by the patient that the forms, an extension of the person that cares for them, have power and purpose. I realize that some of the information contained in them is essential but certainly not all of it. By example, I went to a consulting doctor’s office once at the request of my family doctor. There were, of course, forms to fill out and lots of them. The lady handling the forms said that I must sign in agreement that the doc could take photos and basically use them any way he wanted. I told her that I would not sign because I didn’t want any photos taken. She told me that it was okay to disagree and that no photos would be taken if I didn’t want but I still had to sign the form saying I agreed to the photo documentation. It turned into this minor altercation but in the end it was all about validating the forms and, I suspect, the power and purpose of the forms tender.

The dentist’s assistant eventually escorted me back to room 4 where she looked at my problem with a mirror, took an x-ray and developed a worried look. “I’m not sure if we can save it”, she said. “Lets have the doc decide”, I said. She gave me 2 pills, started the gas and the mission was underway. Some time passed and the doc came in. After checking things out he confirmed the assistant’s assessment.

It broke off at the gum line about a week ago and according to my dentist there was decay at the point of bifurcation. “It can’t be restored” were his actual words. Though I kept a brave face and demeanor, in my heart and mind I was grieved at the news. I felt a quiet mourning deep inside. Like I imagine someone must feel when they hear some devastating news that is, without question, unavoidable or irreversible. Part of me was about to be gone, never to return.

My dentist is a great guy and I really like him better than any other I’ve had. Straight forward with just the right amount of sensitivity to my consciousness. He doesn’t lecture me on what I should be doing or how I’ve failed in the immaculate pursuit of oral hygiene over the years I don’t want to hear a lecture when I go in there. I just want help. Now. I am old enough and self aware enough to know where I’m at in all of that. I know I’ve neglected that some. I don’t need or want some pristine judgment passed on my shortcomings by the hygienist who has, by the way, a perfect dental presentation to the world. I just want to preserve what I have for as long as I can. My dentist is good with that. We’re on a first name basis and I feel as comfortable with him as I do with a friend. I trust him and his judgment. If he said it had to come out, then it had to come out.

After the numbing effect began to settle in, they came back into the room. Another young lady slipped in quietly behind them and started to suit up. An observer I suppose. As gowns, masks and gloves were donned, it all started to look sterile and impersonal. Down to business. I heard him mutter “15” and the assistant handed him something. There was some mild poking around and I heard her say, “sure you’ve got it”? “Yeah” says the doc. That’s when I felt something pinching my tongue and pulled it out of the bind. “Well, thought I had it”. A moment later I could feel the fibers of my gum reluctantly releasing the tooth. Like it must feel to be desperately holding on to a hand that is being pulled away from your grasp. Someone you love being pulled away from you, never to return. As it happened, I thought about my loss. I felt regret, anguish and anger. How would I continue to live comfortably without this tooth? Absorbed with my loss, I suddenly recalled something I witnessed when I first came into the office. The new receptionist had handed me the forms and I’d noticed that there was a band-aid on her index finger. Half of her finger was missing. It stood out in sharp contrast to the bright and happy nature she displayed. In that initial moment of personal loss for myself I realized how insignificant it was by comparison to some real tragedy. The loss of a finger, a pronouncement of cancer, the death of a family member. Those are real tragedies. Suddenly, feelings of anguish for my tooth evaporated. Though I will miss it, I’m sure that I will adapt. I guess that part of an event like losing a tooth is also the understanding that I’m getting older. I’m not necessarily the superman that I once envisioned myself to be. Even well maintained machines breakdown in time. The high side of that is as time takes it’s toll and we lose functionality in some areas of life, we develop abilities and wisdom in other areas. Sometimes it seems like we are diminished when we lose things we love and that we are lesser for it. If the truth be told though, it forces character on us and helps us grow, not wither in ways that really matter.