“An Accumulation…”

I once read a story where a special needs mom described her daughter’s seemingly “over the top” fear of needles to a phlebotomist who had no frame of reference, compassion, or desire to understand. The phlebotomist had written the child off as poorly behaved, and the mom as one with no control. This mom said plainly to the phlebotomist, “It’s not you. It’s not even the needle any more, at least I don’t think so. You are AN ACCUMULATION of botched blood draws and rolled IV attempts. You are an ACCUMULATION of her being stripped of her control, and of all the pain that has come from those needles.”

That story stuck with me in the deepest way. And I have told doctors, nurses, and phlebotomists alike, whose egos are sometimes easily bruised by an incredibly anxious 12-year-old, not to take it personally. That is if course unless they get it wrong and add to the problem…

Tomorrow morning Meghan will head to the oral surgeon for general anesthesia and surgery 15.

The surgery itself this time is not that unusual.  The wisdom teeth are impacted and the bottom two will come out tomorrow.  Years of orthodontics are complete, not to be damaged by over-anxious wisdom teeth making an unwelcome early appearance.

I say it’s not unusual. Except that she’s 12.


If you think about when you had your own out, my guess is you were somewhere between 17 and 21.  And, at the time you had them done you knew at least a few people your age who already did it.  And you were in turn “there” for your friends that followed.

Except once again she’s braving unchartered territory alone.

For those that have challenged her on calling this “surgery,”  I will remind you that is probably how you referred to yours.  At the oral SURGEON, under anesthesia.

There have been countless well-meaning adults, telling her about their wisdom teeth, and how it’s no big deal.


And while their intentions are good, I bet there aren’t going to be too many people absent from her junior high this year to get their wisdom teeth pulled.

As “normal” as things are, they just aren’t.


By the time her friends get theirs done they will not remember, and I’ll likely have to vouch for her story that hers came out at 12.

The oral surgeon’s office called to remind me she shouldn’t eat or drink after midnight.  They shouldn’t worry.  I stopped any use of NSAIDs, and fish oil, and unneccessary multivitamins a few days ago.

We’ve got this.

She just shouldn’t have to.

It’s a recurring theme.  But, we will endure.  Because we have no other option.

Defrosting the chicken for tomorrow’s soup.



“It’s probably nothing, but…”

don't worry

We are two for two this week.

Monday the orthodontist referred us back to the dentist.  The OVERGROWTH on Meghan’s gum may warrant an evaluation, and possible oral surgery.  But first – to the dentist Thursday.

Tonight, an annual eye doctor exam.  Admittedly we are 3 months late.  There was the hurricane, and then Grandma fell, and then the car accident, and then… it was January 29th.

I knew her eyes were worse.  She told me she couldn’t see the charts in the room.  Her teachers asked when she would have another eye evaluation.

She had gone since kindergarten without a new prescription.

The onset of headaches, correlated with the decline in vision over the last three months makes me uptight.

eye chart

She read 20/50 and 20/70 WITH her glasses on.  I almost threw up.

Cowden’s syndrome and its tumor growth, and general overgrowth potential. can lead to the wildest imagination.

But, my husband’s sisters, Meghan’s paternal aunts, have terrible eyes.  So maybe…

Then they took the picture of her eyes, and compared them to the visit of October 2011.

“Well, maybe my machine is just darker today,” says the doctor.  “But there is some shading on the right eye I think you should have looked at.  It’s probably nothing, but…”

Famous words.  They usually lead to a Cowden’s Syndrome mess.

Not much literature on the retina and Cowden’s, but then again, there aren’t too many of us – relatively speaking.

Who am I to guess.  I am closing in on 40 and just now considering my first pair of reading glasses – right on time.

I keep saying that I will call at work. Then I spend the day doing my best to put out out small fires.


And all of a sudden its time to go.  Off to another appointment.

Tomorrow I will call the “retinologist.”  Who knew?  Thursday we will see the dentist.

Two glasses of wine tonight, and I feel like I have been beat.  What a day.  Early to bed – no doubt.

“It’s probably nothing, but….”

Just in case I should rest up.