Emma's Trip to the Dentist

I will admit it ... I hate going to the dentist.  I avoid it all costs.  I definitely don't go every six months or even once a year.  I often use the fact that we move around so much as an excuse for not finding a dentist.  I'm terrible. I know. 

I'm not even really sure where this fear comes from.  I never had bad check-ups as a kid.  The only cavities I've in my life were when I was about 24.  None before, none since.  I don't floss though and I get in trouble for it.  Ah ... there it is.  The reason for my fear.  I HATE getting in trouble.  Always have, always will.  I don't do what I'm supposed to in terms of dentistry, therefor I will get in trouble when I go. I'm also a rule follower so it's pretty amazing that I don't follow the rules of oral care to a T.

Anyway, I've been avoiding taking Emma to the dentist too.  In the beginning, I avoided it because I couldn't imagine the level of screaming that would occur in that dentist's chair.  Actually, I could imagine which was the problem. When she was younger, she also had so many doctors to see that I just couldn't see adding one more to the roster when she didn't absolutely have to go.

Then last winter, she fell and bumped her 2 front teeth.  She bled for a long time and afterwards, I swore that her teeth when not in the same place (they actually looked straighter) and that they were discolored.  Jeremy and my friend, Joanna, thought I was crazy when I would repeatedly point the color out.  I was about to take her to the dentist, but discovered she didn't have dental insurance.  So since I read that teeth can 'bruise' and go back to white, I waited and enrolled in our dental program.  By the time her coverage started, her teeth were back to white.  In the meantime, I'd worked myself up thinking that she would need to have all this crazy dental work done and would need to have them extracted based on what I read on the Internet. 

*Let's take a moment for a PSA:  If you are a neurotic mother who is prone to over-worrying and building crazy stories in your head about what could be ailing yourself or your children, STAY OFF THE INTERNET!!!

So having built these scenarios in my head, I did what I do best, I avoided the situation.  I avoided for so long, even though it was gnawing at me, that I eventually thought if I did take her, I would get in trouble for not taking her in sooner.  The rational side of me, I will point out, was reminding the highly emotional, unstable side of me that avoiding would not make the problem go away, but only make it worse in the end.  The emotional side told the rational side to 'Shut up!'

So her teeth turned white again and avoided the dentist.  She was only 2 1/2 anyway and my dentist said I should take her when she was 3. (Never mind the pediatric dentistry world's recommendation of taking a child to the dentist by his/her first birthday.)  I pushed it out of my head and told myself I would take her at 3. 

Over the next few months, I began to notice a stain on one of her teeth.  Welcome the gnawing feeling again.  I told myself it was from antibiotics (she was on amoxicillin for a year) or an iron stain from her formula.  Plus we were getting ready to move, I was pregnant, and Jeremy was getting ready to go away.  I didn't need one more thing to worry about. 

 We settled into my parents house. Emma turned 3.  I had the baby. Jeremy deployed.  And I still avoided.  The stain got more noticeable to me and I was riddled with mommy guilt, but still I ignored it because I was worried about the trauma of going to the dentist.  I worried that Emma would be upset by it too.

Finally, the other day, I really looked at the tooth.  I ran my finger of it.  There was a white dot in the middle and it felt rough.  A cavity!  Oh, my gosh I let a giant hole develop in her tooth.  The tooth in question is the one to the right her two front teeth.  I looked at her gums and noticed a little white spot above the decaying tooth.  An abscess! What a horrible mother I am!  My avoidance was clearly the culprit and I felt sick to my stomach.  I brushed her teeth like crazy that day, as if that would make a difference.  With new visions of root canals and extractions, I made the difficult (for me) decision that I could no longer avoid the situation and I would make an appointment with a dentist on Monday.   I would only allow myself to worry about making the initial phone call (another irrational fear of mine) and not the actual diagnosis.  Baby steps.  (I may have had mild - or not that mild - breakdown in front of my mom about letting this go so long, not being on top of things, and my tendency to run away from things.  I felt better afterwards.)

I chose a pediatric dentist.  She was covered by our insurance, relatively close by and I liked her website.  None of my friends had heard of her, though the recommended the dentists they took their children to.  They, however, were not pediatric and most importantly, were men.  I decided that to have any hope of a positive experience, Emma needed to see a female dentist.  All her other doctors are men, and most of them time, it doesn't go well.  Not because they aren't kind and wonderful.  She just doesn't even give them a chance most of the time.

I made the call.  They could take her on Wednesday.  WAY SOONER THAT I EXPECTED!! Oh well.  Just bite the bullet, I told myself.  The sooner we go the sooner this is all over and the less I have to worry.

Later that day, while my parents were out and couldn't talk me down from my proverbial ledge, I notice a dark spot on the roof of her mouth.  Oh, God! It's worse than I thought!  I immediately felt sick.  I asked her to show me again.  Maybe I imagined it.  Nope definitely a brown spot right above the rotting tooth.  My spirits plummeted. Not only had the baby tooth rotted, now, perhaps, the adult tooth that was supposed to be tucked safely in her gums until it was time to arrive, was also rotting right through the roof her mouth.  I had a moment of clarity ... she had just eaten.  Maybe it was left from lunch.  Once more I asked Emma to open wide.  This time, I dared to touch the offending spot and ask if it hurt.  'Yes!' she responded.  I panicked.  This was terrible.  I told her it was time for quite time in her room.  I need a break.

I went to my room, opened the computer and googled it.  Yes, I know.  I remember the PSA, but I often ignore my rational side, remember?!  The only thing that calmed me was that I saw a picture of a toddler's mouth in which EVERY SINGLE tooth was black.  Black!  Okay, at least, it hadn't gone that far.  I also read other reports of 3-year-olds who had mouths full of cavities and needed root canals.  We weren't alone.

Again the rational part of my brain called to me from it's dark recesses.  How could she have gotten a cavity that was so terrible?  We brush her teeth. She has never gone to bed with a bottle.  She only eats sweet treats occasionally and never gum or sticky candy.  She has a healthy diet.  What could have happened?

'Well ..." called the emotional side, 'She does still have a binky! And you don't clean it as often as you should.'  The binky! Oh the binky! Another source of mommy guilt.  I had chosen not to force the issue of abandoning the binky because of everything else she has been dealing with.  It was a source of comfort and she doesn't spend all day with it in her mouth.  Bedtime and an especially bad meltdown.  That must have been it though.  Ugh!


As the day wore on, I became more mentally exhausted.  I couldn't even mention the spot on the roof of her mouth to my parents because I was so embarrassed.  Illustrating exactly how neurotic and crazy I can actually be, by bedtime I was convinced that the spot was a form of mouth cancer or maybe even a brain tumor pushing down.  (No idea if that can even happen! See how creative I am!) We had pushed her MRI back last year because her neurosurgeon didn't feel she needed one until this year.  Maybe it would've shown a small tumor! My (imaginary) world was crashing down around me.  It's amazing I fell asleep that night.

Wednesday arrived.  I had been masking me fears in front of Emma, not wanting to leave her with the same fears.The day before she was a little anxious and even asked if we could just go right then to get it over with.  Good girl! Face your fears head on!  Maybe there was hope that she wouldn't be a scaredy cat like me!  Anyway, I told her that morning that she would 'get' to go the dentist tooday! Hooray! We shouted.  We talked about getting shiny clean teeth and a new tooth brush and maybe even a prize!

We made the short drive to the office, singing a 'Going To The Dentist' song.  Gotta make it seem like this will be fun!  We arrived at the office 15 minutes early as requested.  The office beautiful - new, clean, well-designed.  Emma found Mickey Mouse on the flat screen while I checked her in.  A built in fish tank house tropical fish - cleverly 'Nemo', 'Dory' and several other fish from the movie 'Finding Nemo' were swimming in the tank, just like in the movie.  The dentist had a sense of humor! Good sign!

We waited, and waited.  First thing in the morning, the appointment should be on time, right?  A kid who came in after us was called before us.  Hmmm ... still more waiting.  I began to get nervous (Ha! Like I wasn't already nervous!) that Emma would lose it.  The longer we waited the more anxious she would become. I'd seen it at Children's Hospital in November.  Finally, I asked the receptionist if she would be called soon.  'Well, it's only 8:30.  They are just finishing another patient.'  "Yes, but her appointment was at 8:15." 'Oh well we schedule 15 minutes early to do paperwork.  Her actual appointment is at 8:30.'  "I see.  Well no one told me that.  I was just told to be here 15 minutes early and that our appointment was at 8:15" Blah blah blah.

We were finally called in.  Emma laid down on a table with a flat screen above it, was given headphones and watch 'Jake and the Neverland Pirates' while her teeth were cleaned and counted.  The hygienist asked if I had any concerns.  I mentioned the suspected cavity and the dark spot on the roof of her mouth.  Luckily, I stopped there and did not explain my fears of what it might indicate.  She looked in Emma's mouth while I held my breath.  "Where did you say the spot was?"  I peered in ready to point it out.  'Right he- Oh, it's not there anymore!'  I looked again.  It really wasn't there.  I thought back to the day before when I noticed it.  I remembered that one rational thought that maybe it was from lunch.  What had she eaten?  A peanut butter sandwich and RAISINS!  'Umm, I think it must have been a piece of raisin.'

Please have me committed!  Here I am imagining my daughter without one of her front teeth until her adult tooth grows in or with an implant for the rest of her life since her adult tooth was rotting.  Or even worse, that she had some form of cancer! All over a piece of raisin! I've lost it!  Although, in my defense, she did tell me it hurt when I touched it!

So in the end, we loved the hygienist and the dentist.  The office was amazing.  The dentist said her teeth were beautiful.  The tooth in question?  It does have a pit that needs to be filled, but it's not decayed.  It's just because of the way it formed.  So in March, she will 'paint a princess' on it.  No drilling. No Novocaine.  Maybe a little 'laughing gas' to keep her relaxed, but that's it.  All that anxiety for NOTHING!  They even gave me a little brush for Cate when I asked about the best way to care for a baby's teeth. Awesome!  The dentist didn't even push me to get rid of the binky yet! (She said it wasn't causing any problems as of now and with everything she has been through, her emotional need for it is more important than her overbite which she would most likely have due to genetics anyway.)

Lesson learned, don't let your fears get the best of you.  My imagination is WAY worse than reality! Oh and ... Cate will be going in July when she turns 1!