There's No Such Thing As A Mistake, Part 2

I came home after my appointment with the ortho on Tuesday to find that the elastic bands around my teeth had already come loose in two places. I was so angry about this that I almost punched a wall. How many times do I have to keep going back to that office to make sure that I'm getting the proper treatment that I should be receiving?  I went late in the day, knowing that he would not be in the office.

I was greeted by one of the dental assistants, who I like very much. She's always been kind and we've chatted from time to time. She took one look and said to me, "Honestly, does he think that patients are stupid?  Or that they don't notice?  I have patients coming in two and three times a month to fix wires and brackets and tubes. If he just took care of them properly the first time, those visits would be unnecessary. And if someone complains, he calls them crazy."  Or dead wood as the case may be.

Maybe I should have been surprised to hear her say this, but I wasn't. I think I know that my orthodontist has both empathy and behavior issues, and I figured that I wasn't the only one to be on the receiving end of this treatment. She spent a full 45 minutes fixing and redoing the metal tubes that he had installed so that they'd be secure. I asked her point blank, "Really, really, how much time do you think I have left?"

She said that honestly, it was 2-3 months tops. This is in keeping with what he said on Tuesday, and quite frankly, all that I will tolerate. Two to three months will put us at three years exactly, and it is NOT going beyond that. I've decided, most emphatically, that this is over in July. The retainers will begin then, but all of the colossal--and painful--moving and shifting will end.

That said, I've started to experiment with being excited. I've been toyed with so much this year, that it has been hard to let myself be vulnerable enough to believe that this will actually end. But hearing it from her, a voice I can trust, in corroboration not only with him, but what I believe in my own heart has allowed me to begin to taste anticipation on the very tip of my tongue. Quite simply, I like how it feels, and how that feeling is growing in me each day.  I am ready to end this fraught, disillusioned relationship with my ortho, and move on to something much more peaceful, clear, healthy and joyful.

And cast a spotlight on the unquestioningly bright smile that accompanies all of that.

There's No Such Thing As a Mistake

The movie "Unfaithful" was on last weekend. I was really struck by the reasoning by Paul Martel when he says (in his fabulous French accent) "There is no such thing as a mistake. There is what you do, and what you don't do."

The last time I went to the ortho, he was again pleased, and told me that we were really nearing the end. He put metal four new metal hooks inside my mouth and showed me how to essentially wire my jaw shut, which I was to do every night. This was painful, and a bit scary, but just as I started to get used to it,  one of the hooks--and a bracket--popped off about a week later. I had a big press event, so I was unable to go to the ortho that week, and he went on vacation the next week. Not wanting to put myself in the hands of assistants and replacements, I waited to see him. The teeth were floating out there for almost 2 weeks and I felt them move every day. There was something strangely liberating about this--that my teeth, one by one, were rebelling against this process and taking themselves off.

I liked the idea of this.  A lot.

Until today.

I saw the ortho and there was a new assistant at the office. He replaced the wire and she replaced the bracket, only to have it break off while she clumsily put new bands on top of it. He tried to again replace the bracket and had to admonish her that she was assisting him incorrectly. After being in the chair over 20 minutes, I started to feel my lips shaking. Once they had the bracket attached, he was about to have her finish, but this idea completely filled me with dread. I turned to him and said, "Can you finish me?  I really need to get to work." For whatever reason, this started to make me shake even more, though he obligingly finished the job. I was shaking so much by the time I got to the receptionist that she asked me if I wanted to sit down for a bit. More than anything, I just wanted out of the office.

The teeth now feel out of whack where they fit together so nicely two weeks ago. And I have to wire them shut again on top of this. I am back to feeling weepy and angry and so definitively that this whole process was one big colossal mistake.

But I am reminded by Paul Martel that there is no such thing as a mistake. There is only what I did and didn't do.