Like pulling teeth.

I have to schedule a dentist appointment. I'm due, which in my case means that at least 1 or 2 teeth will fall out of my head soon. I can't miss appointments. Sure enough, there's a dentist’s office in walking distance of where my mother's placed me. I've never noticed it which means there isn't a giant neon tooth in front, which is reassuring. I call and leave a message, they've called back.

I 'm reading them the insurance info Leif emailed me and it's not enough. The woman says more can be found on the back on my card. I explain again I don't have a card; I'm getting a divorce and my husband has it. "Will you still be covered in September?", she asks. I think about it and realize that this is almost September and the settlement hasn’t gone through and I still have that fragile legal tie to Leif. Yes, I say. 



She asks Leif's birthday. It had started to become ingrained as part of my personal data and I always had cupcakes and presents ready for Leif, so I’m able to recall it. I forget things fast. I can’t remember the name of the dentist I saw in Pasadena, odd since I went incessantly. Part way through our conversation I remember and give it to her. Next week is my birthday. Last year we went to the LA County Fair.

The dentist’s office fails to pull up Leif’s insurance from the meager info I give her. The woman asks for his social security. I don't know it and I'm forced to tell her I can't easily get it. I can't because I can't call him and ask. He's blocked me on his cell and hasn't returned emails since he wrote a goodbye email, "Goodbye, my love."

 I'm now forced to say, "My husband has the card and he's not talking to me.” I am pathetic, and I didn't feel that functional to begin with. I ask if she can get the  information from my old dentist. I also can't find the address she painfully dictated to me, to have my x-rays sent to.

From my upcoming novel, Chomper and Me.

She wants to know if I saw my x-rays in a viewbox or on a computer screen? I don't know. It looked kind of like a screen, but I don't know what a viewbox is so it could be either. But I picture a viewbox as one of those old shoebox size slide projectors one looks in and it wasn't that. I tell her, “I think it was a computer but I'm not sure.” She says she can call my dentist and get the information, that I don't have to. I ask if she can email me my appointment time.

My appointment's the day after my birthday. My birthday’s going to be rough because I have only my mother and Eric (stepfather) to celebrate it with. The most devoted of the men I'm currently working up is starting his job that day. His wife has at last had enough; they're getting a divorce but they weren't when I first met him at the dogpark. To be fair, I didn't know he was married. I ditched him, but when I got more horribly depressed I let him back. He's starting a new job because a year ago he lost his chiropractor's license in Washington State after a patient accused him of fondling her. He admits he misread signals and had really bad judgment. I figure this is a man who will cheat whether I hang out with him or not. Other than that, he's a nice, attractive guy.

There's more information the dentist needs and it's probably on the back of Leif's card. I remind her that I don't have it. With the dentist’s office rubbing in that I've lost Leif, I'm about to cry on the phone. The woman at the dentist's must sense this and says, "You're better off without him anyway". 



So, the appointment's made but UPS came by while I was on the phone, and now there’s a large box peering in at me through the glass in my front door. It's got to be more shit that Leif sent from our storage unit. I'll have to let the box in eventually. Before it next rains.