Enthusiasm in Liberty

There is a certain enthusiasm in liberty, that makes human nature rise above itself, in acts of bravery and heroism. ~Alexander Hamilton

DISCLAIMER:
I'm hoping that by the time I finish writing this, I'll be incoherent.  See- I went to the dentist today, and had a tooth extracted.  A molar.  A molar that was not inclined to leave the safety of my head.  Not that I blame it, I spend a great deal of time in my own head, but still... it was time for the molar, and it's accompanying root infection, to leave.  So the good doctor numbed me up and wrenched it out.  Now the numbness is wearing off- I can only hope the pain meds I took will kick in before I'm completely un-numb, so that I can, well, not hurt.

So- if this gets rambly- blame the hydrocodone.

Now, on to the post. 


I've been really brave this past week.  I've faced some fears and took some steps forward.  

First, I've started seeing a counselor.  I've been diagnosed with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder), and will be beginning both CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) and meds.  The irony of all of this is that I'm terrified.  Anxious, one might say.  While I understand that GAD is a legitimate disorder, and millions of people are diagnosed with it, I've always felt that this is the sort of thing that I should be strong enough to handle on my own.  If I can't, I must be some sort of loser.  I know- this is not accurate.  But still, there's that little voice...  That little voice gets louder when Big Brother Depression backs it up, but as we all know- depression is a lying m'fer.  

I'm hoping that by beating back anxiety, depression will also take a hike.  But I'm still really really scared.  However, when I break down in tears in my boss' office during a meeting, because I'm terrified I'm going to get fired for doing something wrong (when I haven't- and boy was she surprised, luckily she's really nice), and I can't close my eyes when Bo drives home because I'm afraid we'll hit a deer, and I call my trucks whenever I hear a siren because I'm afraid one of my students has been hurt- well... that sort of thing gets in the way of my life.  I need to break that cycle, and reclaim my liberty.  Enthusiastically.

Second, did I mention I had a tooth pulled?  I also learned a new word:  odontophobia, or "dental fear."  Boy howdy do I ever have THAT.

All my life I've had lousy teeth.  I can remember going to the dentist as a child and getting drilled and filled every time.  Dr. Laird.  I guess he was a nice enough guy, but he had an ANCIENT drill, it was belt driven and I think was one step up from using a pedal to make it go.  The noise of the drill still resonates in my head.  Add four years of orthodontia and I'm really leery of people poking around in my gob.

When I was pregnant with Kate, I was working at a movie theater.  All the popcorn I could eat and all the soda I could drink.  I'm surprised she didn't come out looking like Orville Redenbacher.  But she's fine, the only casualties of the time were my teeth.  The combination of pregnancy, poor diet and an excess of Wild Cherry Pepsi took a toll on the enamel, and I could flake it off with my tongue.  I ended up with a beautiful daughter, and more teeth with cavities than without.

I've tried to go get my teeth fixed over the years, but now, instead of just drilling in my gob and making me crazy, dentists were lecturing.  They were mad at me!  Like I was totally insulting THEM by bringing my horrible teeth in to their shiny offices.  So I was afraid and ashamed.  So I stopped going.

Last week, one of my molars started waking me up at night.  You know that feeling, when you chew on tin foil accidentally?  (or on purpose- I don't know what you do for fun and I'm not here to judge)  Well, amplify that, and add to it the feeling of your heart beating.  Every.  Single.  Heartbeat.  Woom.  Woom.  Woom.  A stabby bass drum of heartbeats, all in my tooth. 

I had to do something.

So I made an appointment with Kate's dentist, and walked in today like a man walking to his execution.  I sat in the chair and asked the nice dental assistant to please not yell at me, I know my teeth are bad, and I'm really, really scared.  Oh- and please don't take it personally if I cry.  She must have relayed that to the doc, because when I told him the same thing he said ok.

Then he started poking around in my gob.  And I started crying.  But I didn't run away, and half an hour later, the offending tooth (hate the hateful offending tooth) was gone.  I could have had a root canal, but I told the doc that it was enough that I got in there to get the tooth yanked- I don't think I could have managed anything more.  Maybe next time, because I have a mouthful.

So where was I?  Oh- right.  Being brave and reclaiming my liberty.  Two steps forward.