Backdate 12th November 2013
Today marks 'Tooth Extraction Day' for my baby girl. At the tender age of 3, my little girl has got her tooth decayed so badly, it decayed right through her roots and infected the gum. The result was a big abscess of pus that manifested just above the decayed tooth.
I had tried to prevent 'The Extraction' as long as I could, by filling up the decayed cavities, cutting down on her sweets and candies, making sure her teeth were brushed AFTER her nightly feeds and regularly checking on her teeth. But when the abscess appeared, I knew that it couldn't be delayed any longer.
So I made that dreaded call to the dental centre for an appointment. Because she is still so young, she had to be put under general anesthesia for the procedure in a day op. Aside from being worried about the aesthetic factor of her being bogay for another 3 to 4 years before the adult teeth grows out, we were even more worried about the effects of G.A. at such a young age. After seeking another opinion from a pd, it seemed that we were left with no other choice.
For the procedure, I knew that she had to fast the night before and that it wouldn't be pain-free. So I prepped her. I read up. Hub and me talked about it. I thought I was mentally ready after my simple mind had progressed past the 'vain' factor.
But No.
At the O.T, they had to hold her down because she refused to breath in the 'gas'. 'Smelly', she had said. And a struggle ensued after that, for 4 adults to hold my screaming, struggling, crying baby who was fighting for all she's worth, down to place the mask over her mouth while I stood there. Helpless.
Me. The Mommy who was brave and fearless in her eyes. The one who would swoop in and rescue her whenever she needed help.
The one who would smash a cockroach with a rolled-up newspaper with just one scream from her. The one who would put her arm into dark crevices filled with dust, dirt and other unknown stuff, just to retrieve the toy that rolled underneath. The one who would protect her from all the scary shadows and monsters at bedtime. The one who had not backed away in squeamishness in the face of vomit and poos.
In the time when she depended on me for desperate help, her brave and fearless Mommy was powerless. I had failed her. I left the O.T on the verge of tears after she was sedated, with my face white as a sheet, my soul deeply shaken and my heart painfully sliced into a thousand pieces.
The procedure took about an hour. In the end, she had to have the tooth beside it removed too because it was as badly decayed. We couldn't bear to subject her through another round of trauma in future so we decided to extract it as well. I was lucky to have 'escaped' the heartbreaking episode when they woke her up from her 'sleep' because I was talking to the doctor then. Daddy went instead. But the sight that I saw when I joined them awhile later would be enough to traumatise me for quite some time.
There she was, so small and vulnerable and feeble, huddled in Daddy's arms all wrapped up, with bits of dried blood crusted in several places on her swollen face. But the worst were her heartrending wails. It seemed to me that the helplessness, sheer terror and defenselessness that she felt during the sedation process were still fresh in her memory. And those emotions were translated into these heartwrenching cries; into a universal language all parents understood instinctively.
In her semi-sedated state, she didn't recognise my voice or my touch, wailing, crying and thrashing around at hands; my hands, that were trying to comfort and soothe her. She rejected my embrace and swung at my arms, clinging only to Daddy, the first and only trustable person she could pick out from the sea of frightening strangers once she opened her eyes from the nightmare. Once again, I stood there helpless and unable to offer her any form of comfort or assurances.
Hours later, she was still lying limply on Daddy's shoulder refusing our attempts to put her on the bed or into my waiting arms. The 'procedure', as they so simply termed it, was not as simple as it sounded. It was extremely traumatising and distressing, both for L and for us.
But what that was needed to be done, is already done. I only blame myself for not looking after her teeth better. L is a brave girl and a fighter. I look forward to seeing that smile back on my bright and cheerfully animated girl soon.
Her smile hereafter will be two teeth less. But nevertheless, it will still be the brightest, sweetest smile I see.
*Note: NO children or parents should be ever subjected to such trauma, unless unavoidable. On hindsight, I had overlooked on getting her teeth checked when she was about a year old and wondered if the decay could be identified earlier and prevented then.
So Parents, please do not neglect the teeth your young children have
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