A few weeks ago, after dinner, Margie was outside playing with her friends while I was in the bedroom folding clothes. I heard some crying and it started getting louder so I decided I better go check it out. Elliott was standing by the window putting his shoes on, and in the tone of a parent trying to hold himself together he told me, “I’m going outside to help Margie. Something’s broken.” I assumed he meant a TOY. I assumed wrong.
She’d been riding on her belly on a friend’s skateboard and hit a bump in the sidewalk. And the sidewalk won.
(Naturally I was all, “Hold still. I just have to get a picture for the blog and then we’ll go to the ER.”)
(Kidding. I didn’t get this photo until hours later while we were IN The ER. And my purpose was 75% for our medical records and only 25% for blogging. Also I’m only blogging this with her permission.)
I freaked the fuck out. I mean. Inside. Because broken people parts are not something I do well with. And teeth are so permanent. Bones mend, but teeth get lost outside. (Skin is for keeping all the broken bits inside, it turns out.) It was doubly hard to take because she has my teeth so it was almost like looking at my own mouth broken.
Not to mention offensive. I mean. I gave her these perfect teeth and what does she do with them? Kids. So irresponsible.
Not knowing at all what needed to be done, I called the nurse’s line who recommended a trip to urgent care. Urgent care gave us a card saying thanks for letting them serve us and they hope to see us soon (I SWEAR I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP.) and sent us off to the hospital (I love Children’s Hospital and hope to never ever visit their ER again. Ever) where a dentist patched her up while we watched the Olympics.
It was mostly OK except for the novocaine shot which resulted in loud screaming and upset both kids so much that they needed to hug each other as soon as it was over. And I got all verklempt. There are times I wonder if I’m doing something wrong since my kids aren’t overly affectionate with each other in general, but moments like that make me know for sure that having two kids was the right decision.
So she’s temporarily fixed. She will hopefully get a more tooth-shaped fix in the near future, but won’t get any permanent fix until she’s finished growing.
And, in the following week, much dental and insurance drama ensured. Hooray. I won’t go into it because A) that’s boring for you and B) I like my blood pressure where it is, thankyouverymuch. Except for the sexist part. Which you can read about here. Yes. That happened. In 2012. Unless we accidentally took a time machine to 1962 and I just forgot to notice. Which is possible, of course. I mean, this dental office didn’t even have digital x-rays.