Jeremiah's School of Levitation

So, my son needed a root canal yesterday, after three days of fighting some really bad mouth pain. This was a result of his front teeth getting knocked out, which I blogged about a while back. Thing is, I didn't make that connection. He'd just lost a tooth that was blocking another tooth from adjusting to its rightful spot, so I figured that the mouth pain was due to the tooth making its journey across the gums. In effect, he had trouble sleeping for the last three nights and I just attributed it to the lost tooth and I gave him asprin and told him to toughen up. It wasn't until he awoke one night with his face swollen so much that he looked like a balloon backfired into his cheeks that my wife thought that maybe something else is going on here.

A trip to the dentist the next day revealed that, actually, a nerve in his broken and capped tooth had died and was getting infected. We were roughly 24 hours away from a spreading gum infection. Instead, we caught it in one tooth, and did an emergency root canal, and all was fixed.

Now, my issue, beyond the fact that I'm mad again about the whole chipped tooth incident (unsupervised boys allowed to horse around in the bathroom), is that I feel really bad for trying to toughen up a boy who was actually suffering from something serious. It is in my nature to not go to a doctor for myself until, well, someone needs to TAKE me to the doctor because I can no longer stand up or speak coherantly. I have apparently projected this onto my kids, and that's BAD DADDY-NESS.

I apologized profusely to my son and he just gave me the old "Aw, Dad. Dry up, will ya!" look, so I guess he forgives me (until he's talking to his therapist 30 years from now...). But, that doesn't absolve me, and it doesn't make me feel any better. I, in effect, should have been more attentive and aware of his pain, more inquisitive, and, well, fatherly. Auuugh!

In the future, I will try to be better about that stuff. This time, my wife's judgement saved me (gee, that never happens!). Mine will intercede next time. Daddy lesson learned.

Not for MY medical issues, though. I still won't go to the doctor unless I'm so messed up that I can't spell my name. In fact, I'm getting me a copy of an anatomy book and some X-acto knives so that, next time I need something removed, I'll just prop up the anatomy book, sterilize the knife, drink a half bottle of whiskey, and get to cutting. It ain't rocket science, people.

Oh wow! I'm afraid something like this may happen to me too - my kids are sometimes drama queens - all that, ohhhh, you're hurt attention - so I pay attention but not too much when they start complaining about stomachaches or what-have-you. Someday it's gonna be appendicitis or something, and I'll have ignored it...

I've had my own moments of Bad Mommy-ness, considering my own brood of drama queens/kings.

Last fall, as I was tucking Boychild in, we had this conversation:

Boychild: If my cough is worse tomorrow, can you stay home with me?
Me: Sure, if it's worse, but if it's not a lot worse we'll give you some cough medicine and you can go to school.
Boychild: But if it's a LOT worse, you'll stay home with me, right?
Me: Right.

His cough the next morning seemed forced, and he kept looking at me with suspicious eyes, so I tried to blow him off. Until he started complaining that he couldn't breathe well and he started pumping his chest up and down in a pipe-organ fashion. Okay, sigh, I'll take the day off.

I reluctantly (!) called the doctor, who got him a 10a.m. appointment. We went, all the while me doubting him ('cause we have pretty fun 'days off'). Before we got to see the doctor, in the waiting room, I said, Now, if this is a just a trick so you can have a day off with me, let's go home now and do something else, because this won't be fun.

Boychild just sat there panting.

As soon as we saw the doctor, she said, "Oh, he's having an asthma attack!"

Faaack.

Little time on the nebulizer and he was better.

And I apologized to Boychild afterward about not believing him.

And I still feel shitty about that.

But...then again...Drama King faked a stomach ache the other night to get me to tuck him in. He was busted when he giggled.

Sorry about the too-long comment.

I would recommend for the first-time do-it-yourselfer to complete the proceedure PRIOR to consuming the whiskey. Being messed up and being messed up while trying to fix something can result in two entirely different outcomes. If you feel the need for pain killers during the proceedure, perhaps this is a good time to involve the family. Maybe Junior would love some hands-on experience... and who knows... maybe you'll find out at that time if he really DOES need a therapist. Maybe he'll just work out his hostility with you directly.

Teri: Yeah, you have to sometimes do the "err on the side of safety" thing. It's a fine line, seeing how these little folks like to ham it up sometime...

Mona: First of all, I have no problem with long comments, long stories, or long jokes. I loves to listen! But, yeah, your experience was pretty hairy too.

TG: Ha! Funny! Now that you mention it, I suppose a drunken surgical procedure might make a bigger mess than planned. Though, giving my wife and kids clearance to operate on me would be an even bigger mess--I bet they've ALL got at least one organ they want to remove from me (or some foriegn object they want to leave in me)!