About six weeks ago, I found myself consistently, over the course of many days, bothered by a twingey ache in what felt like my lower left molar – tooth #18 for those of you who know a whole lot about teeth. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what triggered the pain. Sometimes it felt like just the air irritated it, and other times it seemed aggravated when I bit into something sweet, or something cold. It would calm down if I flossed really well and avoided chewing on it, but eventually, it evened out into a dull persistent ache that really worried me.

In order to understand the level of my freak out, you must first understand the history of my tooth #18. I was a senior in college when it first began to throb, and I remember thinking that a toothache was such a massive inconvenience. It severely cut into my schedule of drinking Carlo Rossi with my roommates, going tanning, dancing at Ladies’ Night at Bourbon Street, and angsting over my Honors’ thesis and my not so secret obsession with the Civil War and Judith Butler’s gender theories. Drinking, dancing, high-level literary analysis – I took it all very seriously.

When the ache escalated to a scream, I hauled ass to the dentist who diagnosed an abscessed tooth and sent me to an endodontist for a root canal. The endodontist said, “yep, that’s an abscess” and shot me up with four shots of Novocain before he started drilling, clearing out the infection, and removing the nerve. Four shots were not nearly enough, and the drilling sent me through the roof. I’ve felt some serious pain in my life and that root canal ranks in the top three – right behind kidney stones, and bone pain from the metal plate and nine screws that held my radius together after it was shattered by the driver’s side airbag of my brother’s Buick LaSabre. That is all to say, it hurt, and undergoing a root canal on an abscessed tooth is on my list of “things to only do once in my life.”

You will not be surprised to hear, then, that six weeks ago, I was alarmed enough to call a dentist. I’m notoriously bad about going to the dentist. I know how important the dentist is, but that knowledge is easily washed away by a flood of vivid childhood memories of being relentlessly scolded every six months by dental hygienists who accused me of drinking soda (I didn’t) or grape juice (seriously?) How else could I explain the excessive plaque build-up and stains that accumulated behind my front teeth? I still have no idea what caused those stains, but I’ll tell you what I do know. I know why I hate the dentist.

So six weeks ago, I went to a new dentist. It was – bar none – the nicest dentist’s office I have ever been in. I’m talking flat screen TV’s showing Netflix in each exam room, noise-canceling headphones, lavender essential oils wafting through the vents, and the kindest most down to earth dentist I have ever met. She took X-rays, said she saw something “funny” in my previously root canaled tooth, and sent me home with a referral to see an endodontist. Not again, I thought.

I called the dental specialist and made an appointment. On the appointed day, I drove to the West Loop feeling like a man headed to the gallows. I dragged my feet into the unbearably posh waiting room, drew a shaky breath, and exchanged pleasantries with the receptionist. She handed me an iPad to fill out my forms, and I sat down in a sleek, ivory chair, tapping away on the tablet while I fought to keep the flush of nerves from creeping up my neck and enveloping my entire face. Finished, I handed the iPad back to her and awaited my doom.

A perky technician peeked her head around the corner and called my name. I followed her up to a futuristic machine I knew would take a CT scan of my entire head – providing the endodontist with an exceptional image of the innards of every tooth in my mouth. It was also not covered by my insurance. Awesome. As the machine whirred around my head, I held perfectly still, not even daring to breathe, lest I mess up the most expensive picture of me ever taken. When the photo shoot was over, we headed to an exam room, and, again, I waited.

The endodontist came in. She was no more than five years older than me, pretty in an “I can wear scrubs and no makeup and my hair in a bun and I’m still stunning” sort of way, and she was also ridiculously nice. She said, “Why don’t you tell me what you’re feeling with that tooth, and then I’ll tell you what I see.” I explained my symptoms. She ran some tests that involved torturing me with cold air, nitrous oxide, and God knows what else. At the end of all of it, she said: “there is something wrong with your tooth, but that’s not what’s causing you pain.” Oooook, I thought. She explained that tooth #18 was entirely dead, except for a tiny bit of root matter that had been left behind during the original root canal. 99% of the time that leftover matter would cause no problem at all. But why would I want to be like everyone else? In my case, that nerve matter had become infected and was slowly eating away at my bone. It was not enough of an infection to cause me any pain, but eventually – the tooth would have to be re-root-canaled – not today, not tomorrow, but soon.

As I talked with the doctor, I rapidly calmed down. I’m an information whore – especially when it comes to anything medical. I always have questions, and answers make me feel in control – whether they are procured from WebMD or, even better, from the mouth of a kind, smart, compassionate doctor whose job it is to take care of me. I learned all about my tooth, craning forward to inspect the fascinating images of the dead nerve, the infected matter, and the dark blob that signaled bone loss in my jaw. As I interacted with the doctor, she tipped her head, a smile forming at the corner of her mouth and said, “Are you always this happy?” I was taken aback, “Well,” I answered, “yes.” I later added that I love learning and she was teaching me something I didn’t know – something about myself. She also wasn’t immediately root canaling my tooth.

While she couldn’t explain what was causing my current discomfort, the doctor advocated a wait-and-see approach and promised that – when I was ready to root canal the tooth – she would take care of me. I know she will. In the spirit of talking to strangers, I stayed and chatted with her for another twenty minutes (it was a slow day at the dental specialists’ office). We talked about my job, her job, her home in Lincoln Park, and her adorable tri-lingual 3-year-old who is applying to preschools.

My tooth has calmed down, and I’ve decided to wait to have it root canaled. Lately, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about my visit with that endodontist. The whole experience is like a tiny microcosm of my current space in life.   Incessantly bothered by a feeling that something was off, terrified of the thing I knew I had to do, I bit the bullet, and I took action. As I took each step toward getting my pain diagnosed, I felt empowered, strong, and capable. I learned about myself, and I learned about other people.

I was also struck by the doctor’s question – “are you always this happy?” In the last couple months, I’ve been fielding that question quite a bit, and I realize that my extreme openness to other people and the possibilities of my life has led to, amongst other things, my genuine and palpable happiness and strangers’ tendency to comment on it. Just last week, my new trainer asked me if I always have this much fun working out, and exactly how many mimosas did I have at lunch? Of course, I had zero mimosas at lunch, and I pretty much always have a blast working out, but his question was so similar to the endodontist’s reaction, I couldn’t ignore it. When I’m having a down day, I remind myself that I am happy, but that joy didn’t just fall into my lap. It’s a product of my relationships with myself and others, and I have to work for that joy every day – just as I have to show up to the gym, talk to strangers, and do the things that terrify me.

Speaking of doing things that terrify me, I’ll be telling a story in front of a live audience at this story showcase. Tickets are just $5, and I’d love my loyal blog readers to be there. I also have a few more stories – including a follow up to my ask-out on the L, but they will have to wait. Stay tuned.

Until next time…