Yesterday there was a consultation with the oral surgeon. The night before there was a lot of whining (and some wine), "Dad's dead, I have a teenager, and a missing tooth?! It's too much!"
Getting ready to go, you would have thought that I was going on a three day train trip... Into the bag went stitching, knitting, novel, and a sketchbook. Into the pocket went Jude's star. While scurrying around a cord grabbed my foot and took me down, landing me on all fours, along with a few loud curse words.
The half an hour it took to drive there provided time to calm down, until I reached the exit, and the anxiety started to build again. After a few deep breaths in, and out, I went in, armed with my security bag of distractions.
"Hi, how are you today?" The pleasant receptionist said.
I came unglued internally...and then externally, unable to form a single syllable, "Uh..."
"You're here," she offered.
"Yes, and I have dental anxiety."
I repeated this to the x-ray technician, and then the surgeon. (Although I have a feeling the information had already been passed along to both of them, in addition to the woman who went over the financial side of things. She actually came around to my side of the desk, in what I'm sure was an attempt to offer reassurance.)
They were all very kind and patient. It was as ok as it could be.
(They were also very efficient- none of the possible projects had an opportunity to even come out of the bag, but it's always good to be prepared.)
This cloth was started last night. For now, I'm calling it "Somewhere Else".
