Two Days . . .

The long story short is that my tooth has to come out.  I do have a cyst in my jaw, most likely my body's reaction to the chronic infection and abscess that never cleared from when I had the original root canal in December 2019.  I also have a hole in my jaw from the persistent infection.  It's possible I will need cadaver bone to fill the hole - he won't know until he gets in there.  I'm making the appointment tomorrow.  The good news is that the cyst is completely benign and it's not the type of cyst that could grow back.  The oral surgeon was really upfront with me - there is another procedure where I might not lose the tooth - an apicoectomy - but the odds of it working in my case are 50:50.  Those are not good odds.  He was clear that he'd do it if that's what I wanted, but he was equally clear that he was sure I would be back in six months and have to have the tooth out anyway.  Since I'm not interested in two oral surgeries I'm going to jump to the extraction and keep moving forward - most likely with an implant after everything heals up. 

The oral surgeon is from Belfast, Northern Ireland and I had something very interesting happen this morning while we were talking.  My family is from Belfast.  My mother was born there, and of course my Gramma and Grampa where born there.  Growing up I spent the most time with my Gramma of any of my cousins who are still alive.  One of my lasting memories of her was of "having tea with Gramma" every afternoon - well, mine was milk with enough tea to take the chill off  :-)  

I am the only one left in my family who would know this (except maybe my cousin, Norah, who is older than I), but something about the oral surgeon's voice - the cadence of his speech and his accent (which wasn't heavy) reminded me so very much of my Gramma.  It was like hearing her somehow.  I was nine when she died, so her voice is a memory long-buried in my head.   It was somehow comforting to hear him speak - so much so that I actually found myself tearing up.  It was like my Gramma was there letting me know everything would be alright.  

I'm little in this photo - probably 2. I've shared this before - I think it's one of the only photos I have of us together and I'm reasonably sure my dad took it, so it was probably the summer of 1958.

Somehow the circles of our lives and the unexpected connections we make as we go about our everyday lives made today easier.  I realize that for most people having a tooth pulled is no big deal.  But to me it's major and I've been nervous about it.  Feeling that connection with the surgeon has made everything a lot easier somehow . . . I'll be having tea tomorrow and thanking my Gramma for reaching out to reassure me . . .

The furnace continues going off and on.  They are coming Wednesday morning to fix it.  Again.  

Man, I love this song . . .