Proof The Bible Is True

The pain was sharp and sudden. It shot through my lower molar. I dropped the pair of khakis I had been folding into the open suitcase on my bed.

 

“Oh, no,” I muttered.

 

My husband, Mike, looked up from across the room. “What is it?”

 

“It’s this darn tooth,” I said, rubbing my jaw. I had a crown, but the tooth underneath was apparently infected. The dentist had warned it might become a problem. But that tooth couldn’t have started acting up at a worse time.

 

We were heading to Florida for a vacation with the grandkids in just days. An anxious traveler, I was already on edge. That’s why I was packing so early: to feel prepared and in control. Traveling was full of potential problems, all of them cause for panic. And now I had a bad tooth to add to the list.

 

“You’d better get right to the dentist,” Mike said.

 

I winced. I dreaded going to the dentist almost as much as I dreaded traveling. One previous visit had been an absolute nightmare.

 

A few years ago, we’d been preparing for a different trip when a different tooth began to ache. The dentist said I’d need to have it extracted before we went. I did…and got a horrible infection. Then I had an allergic reaction to the antibiotics I’d been prescribed. I spent the second half of our vacation shivering in bed with a racing heart rate and a fever. It got so bad that I ended up in the hospital after our return home.

 

With those memories in mind, I picked up the phone to call the dentist but couldn’t make myself dial. What if history repeated itself? The pain from this toothache was bad but not excruciating. Perhaps I can hold out until after Florida, I thought.

 

But the night before our trip, the pain became unbearable. Lying in bed, my tooth throbbing, I was desperate. A visit to the dentist now would mean delaying our trip, missing out on precious time with the grandkids. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed.

 

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