Sekhmet Convinces Me to Get Long Overdue Medical Treatment...

Fair warning: this post may be very uncomfortable to read and deals with a personal medical issue some people will find “gross” or even “disgusting”. It took a lot of courage to write about this publically because there is so much shame attached to it, and I’m still a bit uneasy with making it public knowledge because this “terrible secret” isn’t something I talk about with anyone in real life. But this is also my first real encounter with Sekhmet, one of my Beloveds, and it’s a huge thing in my life right now so if I don’t talk about it I continue on relative radio silence for lack of anything else I can maintain decent focus on. That said, I wouldn’t think worse of you for skipping this one.

What I heard was not exactly what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear “everything will be fine”, “there’s nothing to worry about”, and “this won’t be as unpleasant as you think”.  But what I got was something both infinitely more comforting and slightly frightening:

Your body is resilient.

He’ll judge me, I worried. He’ll be disgusted by what I’ve let happen to myself. He’ll be upset and scold me like all the others did. There’s just so much wrong with me and it's all my fault…

Your shame will not get better with time.

This is true and I find myself unable to argue. The weekend was unsettling. I started to wonder if an infection had taken hold when the pain did not improve much and the very low grade fever pangs started. I was restless and pacing and thinking about it constantly. I worried it so intently that I cut up the tip of my tongue on the raw shards of tooth at the edge of the break. I brushed and flossed and rinsed but even that tingling feeling of clean didn’t chase the pain away for long. And I have lived with this in some form or another for a very long time.

It’s uncomfortable to talk about—in a world where perfect smiles are everywhere—how mine was never perfect. Crooked teeth I couldn’t control. Hygiene I could, but didn’t. The yellow always embarrassed me, ever since high school, but there was a whole new level of shame when that first wisdom tooth broke open and started to rot. I had it taken out, and the experience led, among other things, to a lot of “this wouldn’t have happened if…” speeches and also to my realizing I shouldn’t be left in control of my own pain medications when I don’t have an adequate sense of self worth.

When the other wisdom teeth did the same I went to a different dentist—one who advertised "no pain therapy" —but he turned out to be a con who took all the money my insurance company would let him have through a series of "more important" but ultimately ineffective procedures... well before a surgery was ever scheduled. He left me with no means to pay for extractions short of loan sharks or his own office's high interest payment plans.

“The pain will bring you back, money or no,” he smiled, with his perfect perfect teeth.

But it didn’t, and that was the beginning of my problems.  

I learned to jimmy-rig a sort of homemade filling out of Dentek (an over the counter product for temporarily fixing holes left by lost fillings) and lived with the shame and the discomfort for over five years.

 If yellow is embarrassing, black holes and orange spots are downright alarming to see in one’s own mouth. But one can get used to such a thing. It’s always the back teeth anyway and how many of us really look at those on a day to day basis? I coped largely by ignoring them. I had other things to pay attention to: a lost job, my mother’s cancer, several physical moves, and two major career moves.

 But now, in the quiet wake after all the hustle and bustle and chaos has settled I am left to think on the state of this neglected body and the slow rotting in my mouth. It has spread to other teeth now, in spite of my finally getting used to brushing. It is eating away at the gum line and base of other, supposed-to-be-healthy teeth. It is probably deep in the jaw at this point. Blood work from an unrelated medical issue showed high levels of white blood cells, indicating an infection "somewhere". I knew where but I didn't say it in the doctor's office.

I did a lot of reading about it. I learned that infections like that are dangerous, possibly deadly: if left unchecked for too long they can move into the sinuses, and eventually, the brain. This could be an actual life threatening issue if I don't address it. 

I was scared when I realized that. I’ve hurt this body beyond repair, I thought to myself, I’ll be lucky if even half my jaw can be salvaged. My mother was right (again): I was going to be a thirty year old with dentures because I didn’t brush my teeth enough. And bound up in that revelation was a whole mess of shame, because I am unquestioningly the one most responsible for my body’s well being, and because the weak excuse that I’ve always been a picky eater and effective dental products don’t taste good to me seems a very poor reason to end up in a state where a lack of basic hygiene is threatening my life. 

That was when She spoke up.

Your body is resilient.

Meth addicts and ancient people have survived worse. I know. That's small comfort.The dentist is going to treat me unkindly, I said, he won't try to be gentle or careful because I don’t deserve good medical care given how I’ve acted toward my own body. He'll think it isn't worth the trouble because I'll just mess it up again. 

This is exactly what modern health culture (in many parts of the US) teaches us: that we only deserve good, kind medical care if we are appropriately thin, exercise, eat right, have good hygiene habits, and do everything the popular health officials tell us to do. Otherwise you are an unacceptable drain on the health care system. If you don’t take care of yourself, you can’t expect to be taken care of.

Your shame will not get better with time. You must end this. It is getting in your way; it is keeping you from your life.

And it is.

How much time and money do I spend trying to fix it myself at home? How many nights do I spend looking in the mirror now and feeling bad about the choices I've made in regard to my dental health? And who can think on the possibility of relationships when they don’t want to open their mouth in private company? When every word seems tainted by the horrible secret? When your teeth start to make you feel you are unworthy of love and companionship and fair treatment you have a problem that far exceeds the medical implications.

I cannot stress enough that these are all very painful things to think on and consider. Shame is one of the worst emotions inflicted on us. It is unavoidable and tidal in its intensity. Whether it is shame delivered to us by others or shame we level at our own selves, it is one of the most painful things in life. Perhaps second only to grief and guilt.

There are healers.

It took me a while to realize Her words were chosen carefully. She said healers. Not doctors, not dentists, not whatever title they went to school for. Healers. The sort of people who do exactly that: heal. Without prejudice and without malice. It occurred to me to look for a professional who seemed open to patients like me. I found websites and articles on new philosophies of dentistry which did not focus on shaming the patient into compliance and which worked to help people fix their existing problems and, through ungrudging education and compassionate encouragement, help them build better hygiene skills so they can avoid future problems. Dentists who don't think that kindness amounts to permissiveness.  

It turns out that there is a whole world of professionals who are sympathetic to the fearful and the ashamed. And they have better, newer tools and procedures available to meet patient needs in a caring way. They don’t mince words about the consequences of decay, but they also don’t assume that all a patient needs is “a good talking to”, nor do they give up on someone because a patient has let things slip “too far”or who some think can't be trusted to maintain good health after the appointments.

I have an appointment on Thursday. I was encouraged by the gentleness of the receptionist, who offered that I could have a consultation and exam without a cleaning if I was more comfortable having the dentist look before touching, so to speak. That comforts me—my teeth are so sensitive right now that the thought of a cleaning via pointy things horrifies me.

 I am still scared and still ashamed. I cried after making the appointment and still cry a bit here and there. But I am hopeful this will go well. I don't need pretty teeth. I just want teeth that don't hurt. I just want teeth that don't make me pause before I eat something crunchy. I just want teeth don't taste bitter with decay or keep me from sleeping on my right side because they wake me up with pain when the pressure from the weight of my own head grows too great. I don't even need them to be normal. I just want teeth that are functional.

They must be hale. 

Exactly.