Spring Break ToothK15

My parents have this incomparable talent of ruining birthdays and vacations of mine.

On my birthday, during my junior year of high school, my parents sold my first car at one of our moderately successfully garage sales.

On my birthday, during my senior year of high school, my parents had me scheduled to have my wisdom teeth extracted.

During the first week of my summer vacation before college, my parents sold my all-time favorite cardinal red Jeep Grand Cherokee (my second car).

During my family’s vacation to Punta Cana—the first we had taken in seven years—my mom accidentally deleted the entire digital photo album, and thus thwarted my attempt to utilize all the perfectly Instagrammable photos we (I) had taken.

In addition to these many parentally inflicted calamities, it felt like every time I was coming home I was going to appointments or getting shots or blood drawn.

I was fine with the fact that this year most of my peers would be setting sail for places like the Bahamas or Panama City Beach, hashtagging #SpringBreak2K15 and attending concerts on the beach, while I watched SVU and Dr. Oz with my mom.

But, in relation to my own health, the only plan I had for break was possibly landscaping the newly blossomed shrubbery that was my unibrow.

However, for my parents, this vacation was no different.

On Friday, March 10^th, I was scheduled to have a root canal procedure. The dentist was reluctant to tell me the official title of what I considered to be a major surgery since I was probing each nurse as to whether or not anyone has died from this on his or her watch.

Maybe my parents had inadvertently overlooked the fact that I was 500 miles from home and genuinely cherished the few times I was able to come home to New Jersey.

Probably not.

I tried pleading with my dad to cancel it by relating it to how scuba divers can’t fly after scuba diving. I said that it was unhealthy to get a root canal because I was flying back to North Carolina the next day and the pressure would heighten the chances of my mouth possibly exploding. He didn’t buy it — probably because I told him this root canal was not as bad as spending his day off with him.

When I finally sat in the chair to get this procedure done, I tried calming myself down. The only thing that made it hard was the fact of what song was playing: The First Cut is the Deepest.

Thankfully, I survived.

– Written by Ryan Schocket