Please pass me the Nitrous Oxide

At the tender age of three, Jilly has already had a busy dental history. This has included six cavities, one refilled three times until finally the dentist just drilled the heck out of the space between her two front teeth to form a perfect "O".

The latest adventure has been an abscessed tooth which festered for a while before I even noticed it. This morning, we went to the Oral Surgeon to have it removed.

Jilly's first encounters with dentists were pretty horrible. Imagine lots of screaming, biting fingers and kicking innocent hygienists, all occurring in the first minutes of us entering an exam room, before anyone had even seen a tooth. We are now on Dentist #3. So, you can imagine the feeling of dread with which I approached this visit, knowing full well that a tooth was about to be removed.

Amazingly, and probably because I didn't expect it, she was a champ. Not one tear was shed, even when the hygienist told me I could go sit in the waiting room as they began to fit the mask over her face for the 'giggle gas'. I gave her a quick kiss and left, feeling a little bewildered. Since when can my baby handle a medical procedure without me?

Before I could even get halfway through a New Yorker article, the nurse was calling me back into the exam rooms. There, in Recovery, was Jilly, with a bloody gauze peeking out of her mouth and her head on a pillow. She looked so little and sweet.

"Are you ok? How do you feel?", I asked her immediately. She looked at me and then spoke words that took me a few moments to process:

"I had fun."

Apparently, the nitrous oxide had done its trick. But, more importantly, my fearful girl had gained a bunch of confidence in herself and in her ability to handle a scary situation on her own.