Yanked

Eleven years ago, I graduated from Notre Dame with a degree in Art History, a Monogram ring, a bunch of great friends, and four erupted wisdom teeth. Because there was plenty of room in my big mouth for them to nestle into their warm home, my adult dentist gave me a choice that summer: I could let them be or he could yank them out. Since my pediatric dentist and bearded orthodontist had spent years nurturing my family of teeth, I told Dr. Gruendel that I was ready to be a mother once again - to four massive molars at the very back of my jawline. Besides, without any job prospects or general direction in life, I thought I could use as much wisdom as possible.

One by one they came through without a problem, giving me a shark-like ability to bite through anything. No matter how stale the baguette or how crunchy the biscotti; now matter how chewy the caramel or sticky the toffee; no matter how tall the sandwich or wide the slice of pizza, my epic line up of teeth could gnaw through it. And I felt some pride in that toothy grin.

About three years ago though, I received the inevitable news. My four ferocious friends had cavities - big ones. The Naper dentist advised me to bid them a fond farewell immediately. But pregnancy, then another pregnancy prolonged their lifespan. It was at my last Naper check up that my X-rays revealed cavities so deep they were about to hit the nerve. So after a couple nightmares and a warning from Dr. Dad, consultations and arrangements were made with an oral surgeon and Michigan grad named Dr. Huvar.

Yesterday was the doomsday for my wisdom teeth. Early in the morning, on an empty stomach, Peter and I pulled up to a Naper suite for surgery. I was sedated shortly thereafter and within thirty minutes, each of my deep seated chompers was pulled out. I could actually still feel each of their departures from my mouth; my drugged goodbye was painless but bittersweet. We had been through a lot together - so many delicious morsels - so many butts of crusty French bread.

I asked if I could see their remains after I woke up. Through my foggy vision, there they were: darkened by ware and tare and cavities beyond repair. They looked so sad. I asked if I could take them home - but I was told they were a bio hazard. (Seriously?) So somewhere in Naperville my teeth were buried and laid to rest yesterday.

My nostalgia sounds silly, I know. But whenever you lose a piece of yourself it hurts a little. So to the savviest, smartest part of my mouth: thank you for more than ten years of amazing bites. You will be sorely missed.

Lo.