My dental surgeon was under stress. I heard it in his lengthy phone call to the previous patient's dentist. He spent a long time excusing himself for the job he'd done. "You'll say he's a great surgeon, but doesn't know much about casting teeth," he concluded, laughing sheepishly.
His confidence was down. Although he touched my shoulder briefly when he got to me, his mind was on the failure before. A couple times someone came in to ask questions about the pictures and the imprints from the case in question.
"This is going to be hard," he promised himself when he looked at the wisdom tooth he had to extract. And so it was. Unfortunately, my mouth was pinned open and I couldn't tell him we could make it easier if he wanted. He struggled and cursed. And just didn't pull hard enough.
I felt the half-hearted attempts, followed by more drilling and wished I could tell him to relax. It was worse for him than it was for me. If I were a better spiritual person, I would have asked him to meditate for a few breaths before he began. Instead, I took it as it came and have the fatface to prove it.
But that's okay. The swelling will go away. And my mouth will be just fine, despite the dental stress. It was just an interesting lesson in how stress and sickness can spread. And I know somehow, I was the source. I am as grateful to him for that lesson as I am for the work on my mouth.
Der Zahnarzt hatte Stress. Da konnte es nicht gut gehen, da er sich schon eingeredet hatte, es wäre schwierig. Beim ersten mal war es besser. Er war besser drauf, hatte nicht dieses geschlagene Gesicht von vornherein. Und mit geöffnetem Mund und gedecktem Gesicht, konnte ich ihn nicht trösten. Was habe ich wohl dieses Mal falsch gemacht?
Nun, es ist vorbei und meine blutunterlaufene Wange glänzt lila unterm linken Auge. Es sieht abenteuerlich aus. Zum Glück habe ich eine Zeit gewählt, wo ich vor meine Fans und die breitere Öffentlichkeit nicht auftreten muss. Es hat Zeit zu heilen. Ich hoffe, der Zahnarzt auch.
