Of Stress and Gratitude

If something had to break, better my night mouthguard than a coronary artery. This is what's left of my tension-surpressing night guard that is supposed to keep me from clenching my teeth during sleep. It's a tiny thing, custom-made by my dentist, that clicks on over my front bottom teeth. As you can see in the photo, the device is not much wider than a couple of Franklin D. Roosevelt heads, but it does a mighty job. It has been holding back the over 250 lbs. of pressure a human bite can exert.

I got it less than a year out following my One and Only SCAD when my dentist suggested perhaps I was tense. Well...she didn't exactly suggest that I was tense. She outright told me: "You've been through hell-and-back with your heart. Of course you're tense!

I had come in to see her with tooth pain that turned out to be a diagonal pressure crack from the surface of the tooth to the gum line. The film of my molar, enlarged on her screen, looked like the aftermath of an earthquake, like an image from my undergrad geology textbook. All that pressure had opened up a pathway for bacteria to make its way into the roots and I ended up with four root canals, a complete crown, and this small clear device that I was to wear every night to prevent anything else from cracking in my mouth. 

It looks pitiful now broken in two. This wasn't supposed to happen. 
It's fabricated out of a forever substance that the manufacturer's website only refers to as a "Discluding Element." Somehow my jaw clenching had decimated a substance that can dangle whole elephants from steel building girders and act as a crash barrier between locomotives. 

Now what? The Thanksgiving holiday is about to dawn and I am days away from my dentist's office being open. Can I actually try to sleep over the next few night without clenching? That is harder than it sounds. 

My dentist has explained the clenching behavior and the hell-and-back to me a few times now and in a few different ways. My favorite analogy she uses is that people who clench their teeth at night usually know how to keep themselves calm and are high-functioning during the day. It's as if they put the stress and worries that come up in their minds away in a file cabinet during the day to deal with later and go on with their jobs or responsibilities at hand. But guess when they start rummaging through those filing cabinets? In my case, I think I am probably a researcher pulling an all-nighter.

Sound familiar?  How many of us SCAD survivors are also high-functioning filers by day and teeth-clenchers by night?

Maybe the only solution is to reverse it, at least until I get a new night mouthguard. 

At the dinner table this Thanksgiving I shall say: "I am grateful to express my stress and worries during the day, rather than all night long."

There!

Look out, family. 

Tears at the Starbucks Counter

All I wanted was a grande Pikes Place half-decaf coffee with steamed coconut milk. It was my last stop of the afternoon after what had turned out to be a stressful Saturday. It was my treat to myself after dealing with a string of irritating events. I has stopped at Starbucks to relax, to breathe, to do what so many of us have learned to do and do well as SCAD survivors and that is to take care of ourselves and not sweat the small stuff.

There had been too much small stuff for me on Saturday. First there was the constipated bearded dragon. I am caring for the magnificent lizard while my son is traveling and I had been up at the crack of dawn, swishing him through 103 degree bathwater, massaging his abdomen, and dripping onto his tongue -- ever so slowly and patiently -- a laxative of warm olive oil and mashed kiwi from a tiny syringe. The situation was dire because Beardie had not pooped in ten days and that can sometimes result in death. (I'll spare you the details but things did "pass," quite rapidly, the following day, so I am happy to report that he lived!).

Next there had been the mad crunch to get a project done for my digital writing graduate course. Between the bathwater swishing and the olive-oil dripping, I had been cobbling together voice-overs, special effects, and musical interludes to create a podcast that was due Sunday night. I had not intentionally left my project until left-minute, but my week teaching 7th grade had been a busy one and Saturday was my only free day to get the project done.

And then my laptop ran out of battery power. When I reached into my bag to pull out my charger, a sinking feeling ran through my guts as I realized it wasn't there. I had left my charger on my desk at work. My school is a 40-minute drive from my home and I am not entirely sure how to work the building security system. With only hours now to get my project done, the quickest -- albeit most expensive -- route to get power restored to my laptop was to dash over to the Apple store and purchase another charger. 

Our local Apple store, which is located at the mall, is a special sort of circus on a Saturday. Upon approach, it appears to be a serene assemblage of human life inside a glass tank. The floor-to-ceiling glass that forms the facade, is sound-proof and all appears orderly. Once you have entered, though, you are in a swirling buzz of technology. There are people lined up along counters with their laptops, iPads, and iPhones, sitting upon stools, all murmuring at the same time to salespeople about their tech woes and wishes.

I forged my way past the counters to the back of the store where, after a spell of waiting for a salesperson, I was able to secure a charger and make my way again to the front of the store, out of the mall, and into sunlight. 

As an extra topping to the stress of the day, I decided to stop at a Christmas Tree Shop and run in to get some nuts. I had been out of nuts, which are a staple of my healthy diet, and I knew they had good prices on almonds and cashews. More wading past humans, this time dodging carts filled with all the accoutrements for happy holidays - scented candles, flag poles with spinning windsock turkeys, and glowing wreaths composed of fake pine boughs and seashells. I located the cans of nuts, inched my way through a checkout, and was able to return to my car without getting run over by drivers competing for the nearest parking spots.

It had all felt like too much. I needed to slow down my Saturday, just for a few moments. 

Not too far from The Christmas Tree Shop is Starbucks, with the green, twin-tailed goddess beckoning me inside to order my half-decaf Pikes Place with steamed coconut milk. Perfect! I would take a little break for myself before I returned home to begin my long evening of finishing my podcast project.  

The ordering part went smoothly despite many customers ahead of me and a steady line forming behind me. It was the pick-up counter where the snag -- and my meltdown-- occurred.

I waited as orders were called and their people stepped forth to claim them. Salted caramel macchiatos and peppermint mocha lattes went sailing by under my nose. I worked on the crossword puzzle. 

A couple blonde roasts with soy and something made with creme brulée was slid to waiting customers. I read an article on the front page of the local newspaper. 

More caffeinated delights sailed past, this time by people who had ordered after me. 

"Excuse me. I'm waiting for a Pikes Place, half-decaf?"

Eye roll. 

Oh dear. The barista was cranky. 

She left her post and returned a few moments later with a steaming cup. She called, in a voice too hearty for the two feet of distance between us: "PIKES PLACE DECAF!"

"That would be me," I whispered.

When I turned and popped the lid to splash a bit of honey in, I noticed it was black. No coconut milk.

Back to the counter.

The barista's arms were now flying faster than before, as a large order had just come through. Pitchers of cream were steaming, ice was being crushed, and whipped cream was being shot out of canisters at an alarming rate. As each drink was placed on the counter, its name was barked out and new waves of people were claiming them. 

"Excuse me."

No response.

"Hello?"

No eye contact

"You forgot"

More barking.

"...my coconut milk."

Nothing. She just kept going on with the other orders. 

At first I felt irritation, then anger and then.. oh God, what was this.... tears! Really? I started to tear up. 

I was crying at the Starbucks pick-up counter!

It was a raw feeling of unfairness. I had been working so hard all week; I still had lots to do ahead of me. I had done everything right. I had ordered correctly and waited patiently. The raw feeling of unfairness began turning larger in my mind and connected to the place which equates with the unfairness of SCAD, with all that I went through with open heart surgery. Suddenly and quite forcefully a small voice wanted to be heard: I did everything right and I had a heart attack. It is unfair!

There is was. Beyond the coconut milk, a voice that could only be heard through this rather silly situation. Even in my teariness I wanted to roar: I've had a heart attack and I've had a hard day and I just want my coffee order to be right!

Of course I said none of this out loud, but my expression must have been sour because a manager appeared and asked me if something was wrong.

I was able to muster: "I've been waiting a long time to get my coffee order right."

Very quickly my coffee was made and served to me as ordered, a refund was issued, and a gift card for $5 was given to me with lots of apologizing by the manager.

Tearing up like that and feeling so small and vulnerable is not typical for me. Yet there it was. And I understand now that it is just another post-SCAD ghost lingering in my mind, a small trace of the sadness of having gone through SCAD. There is a piece of me that feels vulnerable, changed, and asks for recognition of the injustice of SCAD. And it came out in a most surprising way.

It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. It was only asking to be heard.

Once again, I am reminded to have compassion for myself, to slow down, to be brave and live my life but to also hear the sometimes sadness of the survivor's song.