These days I have a new overlay of complexity in my life. It started like a small weed, poking its tepid green shoots from the soil. “You might have to get a dental procedure done. Let’s check that x-ray.”

Then the weed began to grow. Slowly but with conviction. Twisting it’s way toward the sky that weed sends out new buds that transform into sturdy leaves. Roots descending take hold of the best nature has to offer. “It looks like that rather large cavity is in the baby tooth. Since you’ll probably lose that tooth at some point, it looks like you might need to have that pulled now and an implant put in.”

Then that weed starts to flower and grow seeds to extend its life and legacy. Those seeds will dry and one day blow into the wind planting hundreds of plants. Horrifying miraculous multiplication. “Since you are nursing your baby, please check with your doctor as to what anesthetic you’ll be able to take.” Extreme complexity takes hold.

Calls to the OB, the pediatrician, another one to the dentist, to the lactation consultant, and to our insurance and finally spit out a single answer. “Use lidocaine.” “You don’t need to pump and save milk before hand.” “You don’t need to pump and dump afterward.” “You don’t need to pay $35 for this initial lactation consult and then more money later when the doctors ask more questions.” “You don’t need to add a breast pump to the cost of this procedure.” “And no, your insurance doesn’t cover a cent of this multi thousand dollar surgery and restoration.”

I found out that I needed this implant last Friday. I am no lay-down and take the pain kind of person. I am a get up and run like heck the other way to avoid anything that might possibly induce pain kind of person. (Don’t ask how I managed to give birth to three singletons.)

The other night I dreamed that I was at a medical conference and an older dentist was showing the results of this procedure on a three foot tall silicon tooth and gum sculpture. It was black and horrid with gleaming silver sutures and a titanium post that screwed down into the jaw bone below. I think I will remember that dream image for the rest of my life.

I’ve cried. I’ve had sympathy pains. I’ve lost sleep. I’ve had nightmares. I’ve felt my adrenaline course up and down my body. I’ve prayed too many “Hail Mary’s” to count. Okay, I am a little freaked out this procedure.

The final phone call to our pediatrician that gave me the green light also gave me a little bolster of confidence. The nurse on the other end said that her sister, who is phobic of all things medical, got through this same procedure without any mental trauma. With a glimmer of home, I thought, maybe I could do that too.

Sometimes God pushes me to the limit. I was getting to the end of my rope come the ninth phone call. I was worrying about my current milk supply because of being stressed out. I was worrying about early weaning because Pie Pie has never had a bottle. I am still worried about the pain, the emotional trauma, and the recovery. But I know that God was with me through this process. And I know that He will be with me as I continue down this path. It is His way of saying I know you. I love you for who you are. I am teaching you because you mean so much to me. I just wish sometimes it didn’t have to be so difficult and sometimes scary.