At a routine dental cleaning over a year ago, the dentist informed me that a molar with an old root canal would have to be removed at some point. To prolong the stay of the tooth in my mouth, he applied a special gel afterwards and in subsequent cleanings.
All was well until three days before Christmas. As I served cake to ours granddaughter’s eighth birthday party, I noticed a raised spot on the inside of my lower gum. I thought it might be the suspect tooth but I wasn’t sure so I kept an eye on it almost constantly. It wasn’t painful, and in fact, sometimes seemed to get better over the next few days.
Because of the holidays, the dentist’s office was closed until Thursday, three days after Christmas — and the day I realized my tooth was moving. There was also a slight discomfort when I pressed my lower jaw. (I know, “Then don’t push it!”)
Ouch.
Knowing that the clinic should be open that day, I called immediately. Nobody answered. I left a message. No one returned my call. I called again and left another message, but as the afternoon wore on, it was apparent that the clinic was closed until January 2nd. I prayed that I would be able to work relatively easily at that time.
Meanwhile, the havoc wreaked by this little tooth sunk in. January 3rd, an eagerly awaited date, was when my arthritic left hip was to be replaced. I knew the procedure would be delayed until the tooth was extracted, most likely an abscess. The surgeon’s nurse confirmed this in her response to my discouraging report.
If I could have the tooth removed by January 3rd, he wrote, the operation could be rescheduled for January 11th. If not, it would be in March.
I thought about how hard it would be to pull it myself.
A big gift with a tiny, shocking hiccup
In the early fall of 1996, my husband, Randy, discovered that the football players he was coaching were running plays backwards because the playmaker had dyslexia. Meanwhile, I found out that we somehow had a baby on the way. Because soccer, the family home, and our two children’s school and extracurricular activities kept us on the go, I assumed God was giving us a special gift.
Indeed it was.
When sweet Jeffrey was 8 weeks old, we learned from a pediatric neurologist how special our gift was. “Muscular atrophy of the spine,” he said. “A serious case of the most serious type,” he continued. “Most are gone by their fourth birthday.”
Despite surreal disbelief, Randy and I got together. After signing up online, I started walking the internet mazes like a secret agent. Having only a hazy memory of how genetics worked, I learned that SMA, the leading genetic killer of children under 2 in the US at the time, was caused by a deletion or mutation of a single gene.
Such a seemingly tiny hiccup — with shocking ramifications.
Words of encouragement for SMA families from medical specialists were generally non-existent in 1997. Left to our own devices, Randy and I sought unconventional, experimental treatments since Jeffrey was not suffering. I connected with other families through the group SMA families (now called SMA treatment). It is impossible to adequately describe how vitally important these connections continue to be to all who share this hand.
Randy and I fed our tiny mustard seed of faith without hesitation and served us well. It didn’t save Jeffrey the way we’d hoped—Jeffrey grabbed his wings at 5 1/2 months—but there’s joy and relief in knowing he’s now in the perfect place. We are gifted with some amazing reminders of this.
Thanks for an abscessed tooth?
The dental clinic called early on January 2nd and asked me to arrive at 9am. A hygienist took me into a room and began the examination. The dentist that showed up was the same woman who was so kind to my late mother, she even came to the house to do x-rays so mom wouldn’t have to leave the house. I took her presence as a good sign.
As expected, they pulled the tooth right then and there. Also, as expected, extraction was not easy. As I held my mouth wide open for over an hour before taking a break, I wondered how children and adults with SMA and similar conditions fared during dental exams. How could an examination be done on someone with a stretched mouth? I was thankful that I was the one under the knife (and maybe a jackass) and not Jeffrey. I was equally grateful for the patience, compassion and expertise of the dental team.
I survived the surgical extraction and the hours of recovery that followed. With sincere gratitude, I am relieved that the tooth worked early enough to be removed and healed before a potentially nasty infection attacked my new hip. It’s not a happy scenario.
Speaking of hips, as posted, it’s almost time for surgery.
Hip, hip, hooray!
Note: SMA News Today is strictly a news and information site about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. This content is not intended as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. Always seek the advice of your doctor or other qualified health care provider with any questions you may have about a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The views expressed in this column are not those of SMA News Today or its parent company, BioNews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues related to spinal muscular atrophy.
