Much Ado About Nothing

Here’s a confession: I look forward to going to the dentist. I know that most folks (like my mother and husband) would rather plan their own funeral than sit in a dentist’s chair, but I kind of enjoy catching up with my dental hygienist, my dentist, and the office staff. It’s more of a social visit for me.

In early December, I had what I thought would be just another routine dental appointment. My teeth got X-rayed, picked and cleaned, and I was having a good ol’ time chatting away—right up until the last five minutes.

That’s when my dentist poked a spot way back in my throat, and I gagged like a cat trying to cough up a hairball. He poked again. Same result.

“How long has that bump been back there?” he asked. “What bump?” I replied. He looked concerned and turned to the dental hygienist. “See if you can pop that out. Maybe it’s just a tonsil stone.”

For the next minute, she pressed on the mysterious bump with a metal instrument while I gripped the arms of the chair and tried not to gag again, which I found to be impossible. She gave up in defeat.

The dentist came back and said, “Don’t worry, Miss Amber. I think that bump may be a simple tonsil stone. Come back in two weeks, and I’ll check it again.”

The minute I got home, I made a beeline for the bathroom mirror. There it was—a little white bump about the size of a black-eye pea, hiding near my right tonsil. Then I went straight to the Internet and watched three videos of complete strangers popping out their own tonsil stones. (I don’t recommend this, by the way.) I tried the technique myself, but again gagged.

Two weeks later, I was back in the dental chair. After another unsuccessful round of poking, my dentist pushed back and said, “I change my mind. It’s not a tonsil stone, but I don’t know what it is. To be on the safe side, I think you need to go see an oral surgeon, and don’t put this off, okay?”

His last comment scared me. Yikes!

I spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone with my insurance company, hunting down an oral surgeon in Northwest Georgia who was in my network. I finally booked an appointment and filled out so much paperwork that I could’ve published it as a novel, or at least, a novella.

A few days later, the oral surgeon took one look in my mouth and said, “I don’t know what that is either. Plus, it’s too far back for me. I only work inside the mouth. I’m going to refer you to an ENT.”

I was being passed around the medical community like a hot potato.

Two hours later, I was back at home and on the phone with my insurance again. The ENT was in my network, and so I made an appoint- continued from page

ment for the following week and filled out more paperwork.

That Monday, after looking in my mouth at the bump, the ENT said, “It’s just a mucocele. Nothing to worry about unless it continues to grow and causes you discomfort or trouble swallowing.” He patted me on the shoulder and told me it might even disappear on its own.

And just like that, my tour of Northwest Georgia’s oral specialists came to an end after all that extra time, all those copays, and all that worry as I imagined worst-case scenarios. I went home with peace of mind, a new vocabulary word (mucocele), and a lot of gratitude. To coin a phrase used by William Shakespeare: It was much ado about nothing. Thankfully, my scary medical mystery, my December surprise, ended up being a nothing burger—though it took a few doctors and a lot of time to get to that conclusion.