The Park Bench

Every day while I sit in my car waiting for my daughter to be dismissed, I do my best to avoid looking into the park that is next to her school. I don’t like to watch the perfect little pre-schoolers running and playing in the playground while their mamas sit and chat on a nearby bench. It always looks so easy for them from the outside. So… normal.
I never knew what that felt like. By the time my daughter was old enough to play in the park, I had a demanding newborn to attend to. I don’t remember ever sitting on a park bench calmly watching them, even after they got a bit older. I always maintained eagle eye focus, ready to leap to their aid in a nanosecond. Ever vigilant and awaiting that spark in my son’s eyes that signaled he was about to run out of the playground and into the street. I never had time for easy chit chat with anyone. That’s not a bad thing necessarily, as I find it tedious and painful, but having the option would have been nice. To have had a choice.
I’m angry and sad most the time that none of this is easy. It’s a rare day that I’m not trying to put out a metaphorical fire for one or both of my children. It seems like even when things are sailing along, a torpedo strikes us out of nowhere. I always feel like I’m on high alert and at times, it’s overwhelming.

A week ago, Sunday, my son came to me and said that his mouth was hurting him.
He never complains of pain. Ever.
As all of his baby teeth have needed assistance from the dentist to come out because of their extraordinarily long roots, I’m always looking inside of his mouth. I’ve rarely looked at the base of his gums in the front. When I pulled his bottom lip forward to visualize the source of the pain, I nearly fainted. I was able to see the entire root of his permanent front tooth. The other secondary teeth were pushing it out of his lower jaw. The root of the permanent tooth was barely contained by the thinnest sliver of gum tissue.

I made an emergency appointment with the dentist for the next day. After a brief exam and an X-ray, she knew the problem was too big to manage with just a shot of anesthetic. He needed an oral surgeon to remove two teeth- one on the bottom and one on the top as well.
We went straight to the oral surgeon and scheduled the extractions for the following morning. Thankfully the surgeon allowed me to hold my son on my lap during the procedure. I was able to feel his breathing and watch his heart beat and oxygen saturation on the monitor. My son is such a brave little guy and within minutes, thanks to the IV sedation, both teeth were out.
Unfortunately that wasn’t the end of the story. We needed to take him to an orthodontist the very next day. Three different dentists had previously mentioned that my son would likely need a palate expander to make room for his permanent teeth. The orthodontist we saw disagreed. He also looked like he was about fifteen years old so I’m seeking another opinion. While I surely don’t want to put my son through that torture device, I don’t want him to lose his teeth either. Once again I have to make an awful decision and second, third, and fourth guess myself.

I’m tired. I’m so very tired of making difficult decisions.

If that were the only issue I could focus on, it would be a lot simpler. As life dictates, it’s not. Our boy is also currently finishing up testing with another specialist to find out why he can spell a complicated word, can write that same word, and yet can’t read that word. The doctor believes that he suffered a small stroke during his delivery.

A. Stroke.

We get the results at the end of the week along with a plan to scaffold his learning with additional supports. I don’t have a clue as to what those supports might be. I still haven’t processed the possibility that my perfect little baby quite likely had a stroke caused by an incompetent obstetrician during delivery.

My children are my life. I would walk through a hungry lion’s den on fire for them. I don’t have a single regret about having them. I love them more than I ever thought I could love anyone. They are my reason for living.
Once in a rare while though, when it gets to be so hard and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight… there isn’t much I wouldn’t give to be one of those mothers on the park bench.
Just for one worry free afternoon.

*** I completely suck because my daughter’s birthday post is still sitting in my draft folder, unfinished. It will be completed shortly. It was too wonderful to not write about (see? I’m not always misery and pain, I promise). ***

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5 responses to “The Park Bench

  1. That’s a lot for anyone to deal with, and it’s no wonder you long for a few moments of ordinary and normal. It’s normal and you’re normal, and your feelings are valid. I’m so sorry your baby boy is going through all this scary dental work, but I’ll see you somewhere on the other side. And we will drink.

  2. Oh Darlin–of course what you feel is absolutely normal. Dental work sucks donkey balls. But you know what? The most awesome mom? that would be you. KNow what else? those kids over on the playground? TOTALLY covered in snotballs. and they smell like cabbage. šŸ˜‰ love ya!

  3. Usually I try to focus on what is in front of me, but it is so hard, especially when things are tough, not to let your gaze wander to what is right beside you yet so out of reach.

  4. I know what you mean. You’re allowed to be sad and angry. I’d love to have a normal day too. Just remember that those people on the park bench may have their own stuff to deal with. If they don’t now, they probably will at some point. Few people get off scott free.

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