Getting to the Root of It

The image of "roots" is something that has long intrigued me. It's probably because of its Biblical significance--the vine and the branches, being rooted in Christ, etc. It's a common metaphor. So I'm drawn to photographs of trees with lots of groovy roots and even spend time looking at the roots of weeds when I pull them. (OK...a) yes, I'm a dork and b) yes, from the looks of my flowerbeds it would appear that I think flowers, shrubs and weeds should all coexist and the truth is that I don't weed them very often). Nonetheless, I think roots are cool.

All of that said, my long holiday weekend was a bit interrupted by another, much less groovy kind of root. In my tooth. Up close and personal in the form of a root canal. Ouch. So lest you think that I just ignore my dental hygiene, there's a back story to this one.

When I was around 11 my parents had the grand idea to buy a new game for the family to enjoy. I don't recall the official name of the game, but it involved placing two stakes in the ground (akin to horseshoes, a time tested family favorite of ours) and then tossing these disk thingies and trying to "ring" the disk on the stake. The disks are round with a hole in the center, but with these triangular pieces that also have holes in them--tough to describe, but you basically get points based on where you "ring" the disk.

So there we are, playing away and, as with all games that involved my brother and me in those days, the tide turned, tempers flared and before you know it (completely unprovoked, I'm sure) J decides to sling that sucker right at me. He told the story recently and swears that he was aiming at my shins or knees and remembers just watching it slowly rise as it sailed towards me before hitting me square in the mouth.

We're not going to talk about the pitiful lack of instincts that prevented me from moving out of the way. I'm sure there's a reason that I just can't recall at the moment. Really. There must have been a reason.

The disk hit me right in the gums above my top right tooth. So...yes...not only did I not move, but apparently stood still with my mouth wide open. Another point I'd like us to just gloss over. Except I can't because this is where it all comes back around. So the disk sliced open my gums and, as I wouldn't come to realize for many years, actually damaged the root and ultimately killed that tooth.

So 25-ish years after the incident, the tooth has been starting to discolor and the dental professionals decided that it was time to clean it out, hence the root canal that is impeding on my nice, long weekend.

[OK...gross alert...don't read this unless you like crazy medical details.]

The endodontist (Dr. Staci Ianiro--fabulous and I highly recommend her if you need someone to inflict pain in the name of dental healing) gets into the tooth and lets me know that it's "really cool". So, while I really dig Dr. Ianiro and she's a hip young doc, we have very different ideas of what qualifies as "really cool". She then tells me that the tissue inside my tooth and up through the root has mummified. That's right. Mummified. I won't give you any further details, but you can feel free to call me King Tut. Well...I'd prefer Cleopatra.

I'm happy to report that the pain has now mostly subsided, and due to Dr. I's handiwork the tooth has already changed back to it's proper color (yay!). My brother is completely unfazed despite my attempts to make him feel very guilty about all of this. I'm determined to plot a little friendly revenge but haven't yet decided what it will be.

I guess I should just be glad we weren't playing horseshoes.