Bring It On

April 19, 2011: I feel like I'm on a carousel of doctors and I'm being spit out into their offices as I whirl at break-neck speed. The latest on the checklist was a trip to the dentist yesterday morning. Now, I will confess that dentists are not on my Top Ten list. I had a terrible experience in my 30s (long, long ago in another dimension) with a botched root canal and then a repair root canal that almost sent me to the loony bin. Since then, it's been hit-and-miss with my check-ups and follow-ups. When Dr. Avizonis suggested, rather emphatically, that I see a dentist before my radiation treatments begin and get myself a strong fluoride armor, it was with some trepidation. And yet, one thing I've learned in the past few weeks is that when we don't voluntarily keep up our physical maintenance, we may be forced to do it, one way or another. I know I need to go to the dentist regularly, just like I know I need to drink lots of water and eat healthy foods and exercise. It's a matter of laziness and the thinking that "oh, I'll do it next month - maybe after the holidays - maybe after my birthday - maybe when I have more money..." Ha. Never thought I'd be saying, "I'll do it after I am diagnosed with cancer."

Pouring rain. Me in shoes with no socks, so my feet are frozen. Dr. Baird's office is very nice, with elegant furniture and decor. I've already told my story to Beth, the office manager/receptionist over the phone. She expresses her sympathy as I check in. I'm shaky, filling out (another) health history. I should carry a pair of "readers" in my purse - some of the type is hard to read. I hear the whirr of drills and smell the distinct odor of dentist. My prayer this morning was that there will be no huge needs that must be addressed. My financial woes weigh me down.

I have an X-ray first thing. It's ironic that I must wear the heavy vest to guard against radiation. The little assistant, Aubrey, is trying not to cough and I wonder if she's sick. I wait for just a few minutes in the chair, listening to Becky, the hygienist, finish up with the guy next to me. She asks him questions, and I can hear his muffled "mm, hmm" as he tries to answer with her hands in his mouth. Why do they do that? Finally, I hear him laugh. He's done. He's out of here. No wonder he's smiling now.

Becky comes into my little cubicle. She's cute and very nice. I ask if I can tell her my story. She says, "of course, tell me everything." I feel fragile, vulnerable, and start to tear up. I'm getting better at not bringing my emotions into every conversation, but I sit here like a little child, uncomfortable and shaky. She listens intently and I am sorry to shock her so suddenly. It's not every day a complete stranger tells you they have cancer and their life has become something unreal. But, sometimes I just have to play the melanoma card - I tell her that if I've got big problems inside my mouth, they may have to wait until another day, when I don't have radiation treatments breathing down my neck (literally). She understands. I begin to relax.

I've suspected my gums are receding. Isn't that pretty much the norm for a 50-year old? I also suspect that the infamous root canal tooth needs renewed attention, again. But, I like my teeth and I'm a conscientious brusher. Flossing is another matter - that comes and goes. I think of the money my sweet mom and dad spent on braces for me as a teen - money that was hard to come by, money that wasn't available for my siblings - and I feel a debt of gratitude that includes taking care of my smile. So, when Becky tells me that I have no cavities (after not seeing a dentist in at least five years), I'm grateful for that twice-daily "habit" I have. BUT, my teeth are like concrete blocks of plaque and my gums are definitely showing infection. She understands the "need for speed" and proceeds to grind/chip/sand/power-wash the gook & gunk from my poor little teeth. As she's working, she's telling me about the $15 Super Heavy Duty fluoride toothpaste and the prescription mouthwash she wants me to use every day before and during my treatments. Despite the cost, I like that approach. The better the shield on my teeth, the better the outcome, I'm sure. She also tells me that the radiation will probably stain my teeth (I don't remember Dr. A saying that!), so they'll be sure to do a whitening procedure when it's all over. When she's blasted every inch of my mouth, she puts five $40 (each) antibiotic "charges" in the infected pockets of my gums and pronounces me ready for the fluoride "varnishing" they now do instead of the gooey trays. Dr. Baird comes in for about five seconds, looks at all my teeth, advises that I get overlays (at a future date) for two of my metal fillings (I only have four fillings total in my mouth) that are "leaking" (horrors!) and that at some point, I should have my root canal tooth removed and get an implant. He is worried that if I were to be radiated on that side, it would be impossible to ever remove that dead tooth, as direct radiation "kills the blood vessels in the jaw that would hold onto an implant, so if the tooth is pulled, you would have an open wound for the rest of your life" - I shouldn't put quotation marks around this because it's probably not exactly what he said, but this is the quote that sticks out in my unknowing brain today. Now, I'm worried, too, even though the root canal tooth is on my left side. As soon as I get home, I put in a call to Dr. A and leave that message with Val, her assistant.

When I finally leave the dental office, I'm loaded down with samples and full packs of toothpaste, dry mouth remedies, and the mouthwash that will "make all your food taste yucky, so don't use it before you eat." It's still raining, and I'm $100 lighter in the wallet (and that's just the down payment). I've been "under the drill" for an hour and a half, but I'm cleaned and polished and armed for the fight. I should feel grateful - and I do, very much - but I'm also drained. No hopping over to the store like I had planned - nope, I'm headed straight home to the comfort of my own four walls.

Last night, Becky calls my home to see how I'm doing. "You were great today," she says. There is one reason I'll be going back to have her work on my teeth. Today, I get the news from Dr. A that I will not be radiated (interesting term - it sounds warm and wonderful, but oh, how wrong) on the left side, so there is no need to worry about the root canal tooth living (even though it's deader than a doornail) permanently in my mouth. Other news of the day, I have an eye exam scheduled for tomorrow morning at 10 AM, having used the cancer/radiation trump card again for a quick appointment. The appointment with my new Primary Care doctor was made yesterday for next Tuesday - let's hear it for more tests and probing and pricking. A N D, my mommy left this morning to go back south. I already miss her...a lot. Bring it on. I'm a tough cookie, a warrior, a girl on a mission. Just let me grab my water bottle and take a quick nap first...