A Failure Of Sorts

I’ve failed at one of my life goals.  I’ve always wanted to die with a full complement of body parts.  Of course I’m not counting baby teeth or hair.  I would have failed years ago if those counted.  I mean I wanted to keep everything I’m supposed to have.  No amputations, no ectomies, nothing of that sort.  Unfortunately, I had a tooth extracted and all my efforts are for naught.

I think I settled on this goal because I’m utterly terrified of everything medical.  I have to white-knuckle my way through teeth cleanings.  Routine physicals are extremely stressful.  And the funny thing is, I have absolutely no reason to be afraid.  I’ve been remarkably healthy.  (I’m knocking on every piece of wood available as I type this.)  I’ve never broken a bone, never needed stitches, never really needed anything.  Sure, I’ve been sick, but, aside from depression, not seriously sick.  My experience with medical professionals basically comes down to sitting in their office, having them tell me that everything looks fine, then leaving.

The extraction/implant is clearly the most serious procedure I’ve ever been through.  And it really wasn’t bad.  It didn’t hurt at all.  There was no swelling.  I had to eat soft foods for a few days, but that’s it.  And going into it, I was about as frightened as I’ve ever been.  I’m already afraid of getting the crown put on in a few months even though I know the hard part’s over.  It’s weird what scares us.

So, I’ve decided that rather than abandon my goal, I will amend it.  I would still love to keep all of my remaining body parts.  But I’ve realized that that is really part of a broader goal.  The goal is simply to avoid medical procedures.  I imagine I won’t be perfect, but I’m going to do my best.

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