Chapter 3 - Lily’s tooth
The emergency department did not treat Lily’s mouth like a television emergency.
That helped.
Dr. Rebecca Mills examined her face.
Pediatric dentist on call consulted.
The tooth was a lower primary incisor.
Avulsed.
Not replanted.
Primary teeth generally are not placed back because of risk to the developing permanent tooth underneath.
Lily had:
A bruised cheek.
Swollen lip.
Small gum laceration.
One prematurely lost baby tooth.
No jaw fracture.
No concussion symptoms.
No vision problem.
No permanent facial injury expected.
The dentist said:
“We’ll monitor the permanent successor at routine follow-up.”
Lily asked:
“Will my big tooth still come?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Does the tooth fairy know hospitals?”
The dentist smiled.
“She has excellent GPS.”
That was the first time I laughed.
Then I cried.
Lily was lying against my side.
“Mommy, are you sad because my tooth?”
“No.”
“Because Dad?”
I stopped.
Five years old.
Children always locate the most dangerous question.
“I’m upset about what happened.”
“Dad was mean.”
“Yes.”
That answer felt enormous.
Not:
He was stressed.
Not:
You misunderstood.
“Yes.”
The hospital documented the injury.
A social worker came.
Then police.
Julian arrived forty minutes later.
I did not let him into Lily’s treatment room.
He said:
“I’m her father.”
The nurse answered:
“You can wait while social work coordinates contact.”
I loved her a little.
Chloe did not come.
She had been taken separately for questioning after she complained of hip pain from my kick.
Eleanor came.
She sat in the waiting room.
Did not approach me.
My father arrived at 10:08 p.m.
Robert walked in wearing khakis, an old rain jacket, and the expression he used when a financial statement contained numbers he hated.
He knelt beside Lily.
“Hey, bug.”
“Grandpa.”
She opened her mouth.
“Look.”
He looked.
“Impressive.”
“My tooth came out.”
“So I hear.”
“Aunt Chloe slapped it.”
Robert’s face changed.
He touched her hair.
“I heard.”
Lily stared.
“On Mom’s secret phone?”
I looked at my father.
He looked at me.
Apparently secrecy had ended.
“Yes,” he said.
May you like
“Cool.”
Children have unusual priorities.
