Today, the church celebrates guardian angels. Each and every one of us has a unique guardian angel that enlightens, guides, and protects us during our time here on earth. Our guardian angels main job is to protect us from spiritual harm but occasionally may protect us from physical harm. I mean a skinned knee is all part of growing up, right?
On this feast of the guardian angels, I wanted to share one of my first and lasting memories I had with my guardian angel and ask for your prayers. Now, some may feel my story is too graphic. Mom, I’m looking at you. I promise to try to not to be too graphic.
Eighteen years ago I truly believe my guardian angel was looking out for me in numerous ways. On Holy Saturday in 1998 my friend Katie asked me to go on a bike ride with her and her dad. My parents said yes and my mother, who had an eerie feeling, insisted I (11 years old) wear my helmet and I reluctantly did.
Near the end of our bike ride Katie and I started racing down a small hill. I lost control of my bike and flipped over the handle bars. I lost consciousness. I didn’t move. My friend, Katie, thought I had died and started screaming.
My accident happened in front of what my parents call my guardian angels home. The man was in his backyard and heard my friend scream. He ran to the front yard and immediately started helping me. Honestly, to this day I do not know what this man looks like.
This nice man allowed my friends dad to use his home phone to call my parents (guys, this was before the era of cellphones). My parents were outside working in the yard and only knew the phone was ringing because my then five year old sister told them the phone was ringing.
My mom not knowing the trauma I had to my face (and front teeth) immediately left and came to get me, alone. My mom, who to this day gets sick to her stomach thinking about this day, held it together for me but the man who had been helping me realized she could not drive herself to the hospital. He offered. She accepted.
Upon arrival and first examination, it was determined I had knocked out my front tooth and it was missing. The tooth next to it was there but not in good shape. The man stayed with my mom during this entire time. (So I am told. My glasses were a complete wreck and I could not see anything.) It was determined that I may have swallowed the tooth or the tooth was still on the ground where my accident happened. The nice man immediately volunteered to go back to the scene and look for my missing tooth. The ER doctors told him if he found it to put it in milk and do not do anything else to it. As luck would have it, he found my tooth, placed it in milk, and brought it back to the hospital.
Now, there are many details missing from my memory of that day but I do know between the ER doctors, my dentist (who’s office happened to be in the medial building attached to the hospital, he and his wife met us at the ER), and a pediatric dentist, they all saved my teeth. They have lasted me eighteen years. My entire childhood and young adult life all the dentists I have gone to are shocked at how well my extracted teeth were doing, until this summer.
This summer on July 5 I found out I finally needed to have my front tooth pulled (the one next to it is doing okay so far), an implant placed, and a crown. This news was hard mentally and financially hard for our family (this is another story I hope to share another day) but something that could not be put off since my tooth which had been fused to my jaw bone since my accident was decaying. Half decayed actually and my dentist told me to not bite into anything. Nothing like increasing my fear of my tooth breaking off. I knew this day would come but I suppose I was in denial that it would happen when I was 29 years old, maybe in my mid to late thirties but now.
So my husband and I met with the periodontist our dentist recommended to us and we immediately knew he was our doctor. We talked about how I wanted it all done at once (tooth extracted, implant placed, and fix my gum recession) for several reasons. Start to finish about a year. We scheduled my surgery to be done at the end of July while my mom was still on summer break and could help watch the girls while I recovered.
As it turned out my tooth was in worse shape than anyone excepted (the root, what was left of it, crumbled to pieces when it was extracted) and I had no jaw bone left to place the implant. We knew this was a possibility but we all were highly optimistic that this wouldn’t be the case. This was hard news.
Now the doctor has to rebuild my jaw bone (bone graft) and that must heal for a minimum of nine months before he can place the implant and that must heal four to six months before my dentist can place the (permanent) crown. Again, mental and financial shock. Over 18 months or more of surgeries and healing and using NFP to avoid a pregnancy. This has, is and will be hard.
My bone graft surgery will take place soon and I would appreciate any and all prayers you may have to spare. Also, I’d love to pray for you and your intentions when I start to get anxious leading up to my surgery and during my healing process. Thank you all in advance for your prayers.
St. Apollonia, pray for me!
I’ll end on a happier note by sharing my Sunday best and linking up with Rosie. I’m helping teach faith formation to four year olds after mass on Sunday’s so my outfit must be easy to move around in and easily sit on the ground. I learned the hard way during week two.
Madilyn did a fabulous job dressing herself this morning. She wore her Easter dress that she was says iches her but today she didn’t. Tights, for the win? I love fall and everything that is brings but I can’t seem to part with my sandals just yet.
Happy Sunday, friends!