I am a midwife and have seen my fair share of
bodily events that should have turned my stomach and didn’t. I’m also a mom of four children and between
the midwifery and motherhood I’ve been drenched in solids and liquids galore
without any ill effects. I’m the one in
the family on the lookout for pimples and blackheads and a chance to surprise attack
pop them on anyone who will sit still (under my crushing weight) long enough to
let me. I soak fingers in salt water and
do minor surgery for the splinters, dig out the ingrown toenails, carefully spoon
the wax out of my children’s ears using tiny Chinese ear spoons, letting them
examine the ‘barbeque’ themselves. I
happily dressed the puncture wounds from a snow leopard’s bite on the neck of
our poor puppy (before said creature devoured him a month later). I can
calmly look at my three year old’s cheek that is split open to the bone and
think, ‘wow, I’ve never seen a bone from this angle.’
The one thing I don’t like is mouths or
anything dental. “I don’t do mouths.” Any mouth complaint is immediately referred
to my husband, aka Dr. Sahib. A child
who runs in screaming with a bloody mouth gets a cold washcloth and spot on my
lap facing outward so I don’t have to see it and gives me a chance to practice the
visualization and deep breathing I used while giving birth. Anything
beyond a little teeth brushing I start feeling that warm flush and ringing in
my ears which precedes passing out. This
gives me compassion (instead of my typical response of, ‘wuss!’) for those who
pass out at the sight of blood and birthing and placentas, and it gives me a
good reason to pass all such cases to Dr. Sahib.
However, dental crises do not cooperate
with Dr. Sahib’s schedule. He is not
home this week and yesterday our daughter started complaining about pain from
the space maintainer her orthodontist put in the top of her mouth. That device is like the St. Louis arch on the
roof her mouth, anchored between some of her back teeth (or that’s what I
guessed it was like, never having looked at it for above reasons). She wanted me to check it so I did and could
see it had snapped off one of the back anchors on one side and that loose side
of the arch was cutting into the sweet li’l roof of her mouth, poor darling.
We live 2 days tortuous travel (one way) from her orthodontist, and 1
day tortuous travel (one way) from any quack orthodontist. My kids and I get carsick on these
roads. Dr. Sahib is not coming till next
week. How can I help my little
girl? I consult with Dr. Sahib and he
capably suggests just snipping off the other end of the arch and taking the
whole arch out. Easy enough for him to
say, and would be easy enough for him to do.
He can do anything, my Dr. Sahib, with confidence and skill. But we’re talking about me…will I even be
able to see the thing for the fuzzy singing stars in my eyes as I gaze on the
raw roof of her mouth?
I put that possibility out of my head. Then, as if my mouth has a mind of its own, I
tell her what Dr. Sahib suggests and she is all for it. She encourages me, “Mommy, you won’t hurt me,
you can do it.” I’m thinking, “Oh girly,
if you only knew! I could make a huge
mess of all this, might puncture the roof of your mouth right up to your
sinuses!” I don't know why she trusts me or believes in me, but it does give me strength.
I dig through the tool box and grab the
wire cutters. My only experience with
wire cutters is making wire sticks for roasting marshmallows, or cutting wire
to make the skeletons of paper mache swords.
She opens wide and I stick the wire cutters in the general direction of
the wire and realize I’m going to have to really look, to make sure I’m cutting
the wire, not her gums. Oh geeeee (well,
that’s the polite version of the words in my head).
I locate the connection point between the
arch and its anchor, open the wire cutters and then close them hard and yank
them out of her mouth as if they might burn her. She is calmly lying on the couch, looking out
the window, studying the patterns of snow on the Himalayas. I fiddle with the wire and it comes out in my
hand. I sliced her gums next to the wire
a little bit but she says it doesn’t hurt much and feels much better to have it all out.
I collapse, shaking and feeling like I’m going
to puke and she reassures me, “I’m fine, mama, you did great.” All those clamoring fears of maiming her are
silenced.
And just like that there is a sense of
triumph in me. A sense of Divine
provision for what I could not do by myself.
A realization of the gift of grace that I actually didn’t faint on top
of her. It’s a good beginning to the day
to see that My Provider is again giving what we need, putting courage in my
fearful heart, bringing healing to raw places, turning my eyes away from, “I just
can’t do THAT” and re-orienting me to Love.
The Deliverer Of My Fears gives me strength to prefer another instead of
staying stuck in my own limitations. High time some of this happened, not just in
her mouth.
