I saved a life and lost a tooth in a day. My friend drove drunk in the night to my house and never made it out of the car in my driveway. After calling the crisis line myself, scared of what I would see, and being told that "this happens often", I walked to join them in the car. I listened to them before calling the crisis line again, this time on speaker phone. Several answered questions later, the crisis worker said "I think it's time your friend takes you to the emergency room.". So we went without hesitation, holding hands while I drove.
They went through the motions of being admitted while I sat nearby. I had lied to them about what time my tooth extraction was scheduled for that day, saying 10:30am knowing it wasn't until 5:00pm. "Therapeutic fibbing" is a term I recently learned, that I applied in this moment. In one way I hoped it would stoke a fire in them to make good decisions swiftly, for all the goodness in them and all of goodness sake. In another way it was a fib for me, not knowing how much my heart could take. At 10:00am when I left, I'd forgotten I hadn't driven my own car. I called all my friends, but understandably no one could pick me up because they were either working or in Vietnam. I felt that I couldn't say in the moment how lonely and deeply, deeply sad I felt because something so much more major was at the forefront -- my friend, their pain and hopefully their healing. But when I got home, my loneliness and anxiety and sadness swept me up inside.
I wondered what would have happened to M had I the courage, calm, and known resources then. Everything I had for my friend now. I wondered who would have had to die first as practice before I could use those tools on him. I wondered why he had to die for me to learn how to help someone else who wants to, that finds their way to me. I stuffed all of my feeling in to go get my tooth extracted.
I lay on the reclined chair while she pokes me, injecting my mouth noting, "You are too relaxed. That means you have much bigger things on your mind.".
"Smooth as butter, quickly feeling better. Smooth as butter, quickly feeling better." I chanted in my mind. It took longer to wait to be numbed than it did to extract the rotten thing, which in hindsight is quite fitting. I went home pretending to be ok and spent the next day pretending too. The day after, I woke up with familiar hives. The last time I had them was shortly after M had died. I drove to the store to buy Benadryl, knowing that I needed to scream and cry. I wouldn't allow myself and noticed how each time a wave swelled in my eyes my hands shot up, a door closed. The next morning my fingers were fat, joints aching with inflammation, and my eye swollen shut. God is so apparent.
I drove back to the emergency room I had brought my friend to. They gave me prednisone and more Benadryl, and prescribed an epipen should my will to keep my feeling secret one day close my throat entirely. So I am compelled to re-learn how to take my own medicine. The good news is, it takes longer to wait to be numb than it takes to extract a rotten thing.
At home, the hives quickly fading, I pulled tarot cards on my bed. Nothing surprising in my regard (you know when no one can tell you nothin'?). For my friend, the Wheel of Fortune. A life ends, a life continues, a tooth dies, another somewhere pops through the surface. And on and on and on, and I'm going to start to practice crying about it again.
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