Confirmed

The kids had their regularly scheduled dentist appointment just a few days after Caden passed away.  The dentist told me that Brennon needed to see an orthodontist.  I told him that we'd been going to the orthodontist that shares his office for over a year, each of the three times being seen for seconds (they looked at the x-rays the dentist had taken prior to us coming in) and being sent away until other teeth had grown in.  It was a huge thorn in my side how many appointments were made, and how much time was wasted, to be told to come back in a few weeks.  I felt like there was a lot of miscommunication between people that were supposedly working together to make a one-stop dental office.  The dentist told me that the orthodontist would most likely recommend pulling the incisor teeth, to allow more space for other teeth to grow in and begin orthodontia.

We were able to get into the orthodontist the very next week.  The orthodontist sat down, told me that he'd looked at the x-rays and read the dentist's recommendations and would suggest we pull the incisor teeth, allowing more space for other teeth to grow in and begin orthodontia.  I assume that the reason their words were so similar was because he used the same ones the dentist wrote in our file.  I thought then, "Why did we need to be here for the doctors to communicate this information?"  I was just glad that a ball was rolling, instead of being told to wait.

When making the appointment, the receptionist told me that we were making an appointment for an evaluation for the dentist to consider the recommendation of the orthodontist.  Incredulous, I awkwardly stared at her, asking, "You're telling me that we're making an appointment for the dentist to corroborate the competent specialists' recommendation?  That I will have to make another appointment for the work to be done?  I am, in essence, making an appointment for him to tell me the same thing the dentist told me last week?"  She told me that there was a chance that the doctor would do the work right then, but there was a chance they would not.  I was certain that she must be mistaken, so I made sure to make the appointment for Christmas Break, so he would have time to heal after the procedure.  You see, the roots of all four incisor teeth have not started to disintegrate to allow the permanent teeth to move, so it will be a full-on extraction of all four.  If we waited for them to naturally come loose and be lost, we'd be waiting until approximately 8th grade (he said more likely High School) to begin.  It's a big procedure.

I went in to the appointment today with a sliver of doubt, but was 95% sure that the work would be completed.  We prepped Brennon on all that would be taking place, wanting him to fully understand that it was not going to be pleasant, but that we would make every effort to make him comfortable, and that we were only doing this because it was important.  Sure enough, the dentist walked in, told me he'd looked at the x-rays that morning, looked in Brennon's mouth for three seconds, and told me that that was what he would recommend.  To be clear: That is three professionals saying the same thing, without any work being done.  Our appointment was over.  We had to make another appointment to get the work done.  We were told October 10th by one professional that this work would be most likely be recommended, told by another professional on October 17th that that was what should happen, and another man on December 27th that, yes, that was going to happen.  We had to make another appointment.  The dentist looked at the appointments he had today and found a space to fit us in.  Bless him.  It feels weird to be glad that my Brennon {gets?} to have four teeth pulled in less than an hour.

I want to be clear that I love the dentists and orthodontists that we go to.  I love that they can get all 5 4 of my kids in to their dental appointments at the same time. They are fast, efficient, and super, super nice.  But there is some miscommunication that is really cramping my style.  Four appointments have been made in regard to orthodontia needs in the last year that have consisted of someone talking with us for less than five minutes, three of which were appointments where I needed to take him out of school for about an hour for a five minute meet with the doctor.  I do not understand why I needed to make an appointment (we were there for an hour this time, too) to be told that one professional agrees with another, all after a third professional said that was what was probably going to happen eleven weeks ago. *Caden passed away 12 weeks ago, today.*

Brennon was anxiously counting down yesterday, massively nervous for the appointment this morning.  He was mentally and emotionally ready to have them pulled and had to go home for a few hours.  He spent the time between appointments doing work around the house, working feverishly to earn money and keep his mind off of his anxiety.  I feel for him, wishing I could take his pain and anxiety away.  Add that to my frustrations and inability to handle most anything right now, and you have one hot mess of blubbering emotions.  I hate watching my children suffer and hurt.  My poor Brennon.  I wish I could hide us away from reality for a while.

 Brennon is a rockstar!  He needed extra numbing after feeling some pulling on the bottom, but he did amazing getting the shots, and eventually with the extraction.  He was awake, in case you were wondering.  Rockstar, I tell you!  The last of the four was the most difficult.  I am very proud of my son.

He softly wept the whole drive home.  Rip my heart out with a spoon.  He's resting now, full-up on Ibuprofen.  I'm off to recover from my adrenaline crash.  I'm not sure whose anxiety was higher, to be honest.  Maybe I can convince him to nap with me, like he used to....

Notice the way he is holding my finger, and the adorable tiger he wanted to sleep with.  And those cheeks and baby arms.  And that arm resting above his precious baby head.  Oh, my sweet Baby Brennon!  I may be a bit manic, but I can't help but laugh uncontrollably at how weird my arm looks.  I have since discovered ear plugs, thus negating the need for weird-arm.  It looks like a Photoshop gone horribly wrong, like something is smashing my face, or maybe a massive finger pressing my head into the pillow.  I better get some sleep before I scare the children with my frenzied, psychotic laughter.