pride goes before the fall

Back in 1998, just before my first wedding anniversary, I took a job as a dental assistant. I’d floundered a bit in some medical/office positions, and was thrilled to be trained into this position. I worked for a great dentist and made life-long friends with another employee. Though I quit work a little more than a year later to help my dad with his small company and ultimately end up a stay-at-home-mom, I still continue to see this same dentist as do my husband and son, and next year so will my daughter. Even my parents go see him.

Well, actually, I’ve never seen him for anything other than what kids know as the knock-knock-anybody-home game . . . and no one has ever been “home” in my pearly whites. Until now.

I have my first cavity.
It’s in my wisdom tooth.
I’ve decided it wasn’t such a smart tooth after all.
A part of me is devastated that my perfect track record is broken. Thirty one years and all I’ve had is cleanings and braces. The other part of me was mentally prepared because I thought I had a cavity in another tooth which no one can find a cause for (close to the cavity, so maybe the pain is misplaced!).

I am now scheduled for a small filling in the beginning of June (hopefully without a shot, because a needle where I cannot see it terrifies me more than the thought of drilling.) I know what goes on which is probably a bit to my benefit—it’s far less scary than the unknown to me. But this must be payback for actually liking my job assisting the man as he dug out rot from a cavity.