A lesson learned this past weekend: when you’re anxious, it’s best to get out. It’ll put things in perspective.

I had LANAP (laser assisted new attachment procedure) on November 13^th for periodontal disease. I know. So fun!

Some things to know about me:

1. I am an EXTREME dental phobe. Like I vowed I would NEVER go to the dentist again after getting my braces off when I was 13. I am now 40. For a long time, I committed to the bit until I realized I needed to go to the dentist if I wanted to keep my teeth (not that there was any indication I was going to lose them, just that eventually you have to go to the dentist.)
2. When in recovery, I will lay in bed nervously leaning into every weird sensation and stewing. It does no good for no one. My poor husband was trying so hard to remain patient and reassuring in the face of my extreme anxiety as I jump scared myself with every bodily sensation.
3. I thrive on reassurance. Which gets me to the next part of my story where my periodontist gave me none of what I needed.

I am not a coy mistress. I assume that only psychics are psychic and that everyone else can benefit from a solid dose of “this is what I need. If you don’t know how to do it for me, I’ll show/tell you how.”

So, picture me on the sidewalk in front of the brick building that is my periodontist’s office, waiting for my husband in the rain. My mouth is a mess. I’m holding a bunch of rough napkins to my lips trying to catch the residue of the procedure. And in the other hand is a plastic bag with two pages of conflicting post-op directions and a warm ice pack.

The periodontist had been rough during the procedure. They kept leaving, not telling me where they were going or how long they’d be out. There were no reassurances given. There was no detailed post op instructions aside from, “Just read what’s on the paper.” And then there was a follow up date for three weeks.

Those first couple of days, I alternately slept and googled.

“Normal LANAP healing”

“LANAP healing timeline”

“What can you eat post LANAP?”

“Will I ever be able to chew normal food again?”

(Lord love a reddit thread. Those degenerates lurking in the comments always make me feel good about my choices.)

When I realized I hadn’t taken the loading dose of my z-pak on day one, I called the number on the post op directions sheet.

“Call us anytime! We’re here to help!”

How dumb was I?

I called the number and an AI answering service told me to state my issue and the doctor will decide whether it’s worth responding to. So, I stated my case, and the AI bot came back to tell me that the doctor wasn’t in. I left a longer message with my phone number, but the doctor never called me back.

Living in a post surgery body is a vulnerable experience. Your body feels new and weird and there’s all these sensations that you’re not sure you’re supposed to be feeling. Or maybe your doctor is supposed to walk you through all that and not schedule your follow-up for three weeks after the procedure. (I’m still a wee bit salty, if you couldn’t tell.)

I cried in my kitchen, unpacking groceries. Sobbed into my hands while my husband held me against him and told me that everything would be okay. That there are people who get this done and don’t follow the post op to the letter like I’d been doing and are fine.

But I was so scared. I had done a thing that was really hard for me. And I felt like the doctor had spit me out onto the street with a bleeding mouth and a not even hearty, “Good luck!” I was alone in a body that felt scary with no sign posts to tell me what was okay and what wasn’t.

My husband and I laid in bed. He worked. I read my book. And a text message came through on my phone.

“Can you come in now?”

My nail tech. She’s always changing the times on me. A joke that we laugh about when I make an appointment because we know she will call be beforehand to change the time anyway.

“I can’t come in. I had gum surgery. I look crazy.”

“There’s no one here!”

My husband: “Go. It’ll be good for you.”

I thought on it for a moment. My brain spiraling with the possibility of getting some sort of infection, etc, etc, etc. But then I put on some pants and went. Being in bed stewing was only making me feel worse.

So, I went. And it was the best thing I could have done.

We spent the time laughing and commiserating. My poor nail tech is having surgery in January. She shared the results of her test with me, and I found myself reassuring her that everything was going to be okay. That she’d be so happy when it was done.

“I can’t wait until February when I’m sitting here laughing with you fully recovered,” she said. “After I’m on the other side of this, I want to make sure I’m living my life.”

Right. Of course. That’s the whole point of all of this, isn’t it?

Not to allow ourselves to be stopped by anxiety but to appreciate the small little moments that bring the whole purpose of this life thing into focus.

I had been stewing and anxious and sobbing, but I was on the other side. I had done the hard thing. Now, my only job was to recover. To follow the post op instructions. To take care of myself. To get better.

I appreciated then that I was where she wished she was, on the other side of the thing that was looming ahead of her. And because I was on the other side, I could reassure her that it was all going to be okay. She was going to get through it. And when we were sitting together again in February, she’d be so relieved and happy to be done with the big, hard thing.

In that moment, I was happy to be on the other side. That’s when the real healing began.

Oh. And my nails came out super cute, too.

Until next time, friends.