in. out. repeat.

I've been thinking about writing a post concerning breathing. I have a lot of breathing disorders in my family history. I'm in fairly good shape -- I can swim a mile without stopping, for example. But get me vertical and out of the water, put me on a steep enough incline, and the heavy breathing starts -- you'd think I hadn't moved for the last eight years. Either that, or I'm channeling an anonymous phone caller who's up to no good. I think it's weird and just a little embarrassing; after all, I do exercise regularly but I sound like I don't.

And then lately, I've had some adventures in medical land.

Yesterday, I had one of my twice-yearly mammograms. That's the procedure where they use cold hands to put your nice warm breast on a cold plate and then they squeeze really hard with the other cold plate, hard enough to cause bruises sometimes. Then they say sweetly "don't move," which means don't try to breathe in and out of the pain because we'll just have to start over if you do. So I try to stand very still and hope that they're quick, which they were yesterday.

Usually I get results on the spot because I'm in an "at-risk" category. I suppose I'm at risk, but I've also been told that they're "just being careful" and there's really nothing to worry about -- standard procedures and all that. I opted not to wait yesterday because there was someone who had already been waiting for her results for two hours. I should hear something in the next ten days. And if I need to be called back, well, there's a month's wait for that (as opposed to being taken "right away" had I chosen to stay). I'm assuming it's nothing beyond a little aggravating.

And then this morning, I decided that the tooth that's been merely annoying really needed to be attended to today. It was getting worse, not better, and the ibuprofen that I'd been using to manage it seemed not to be helping as much as it was yesterday.

So this morning, I called and called my dentist. No answer. I went by his office. Locked. I went by my husband's dentist (just down the street). A sign on the door said they were closed due to a power outage and to go to his office in the next town. I drove to the next town but couldn't find his office. I finally wandered into another dentist's office and ended up talking to the actual doctor. I told him my sad story and he offered to see me right away. So an x-ray and some scientific experiments later, he decided that I had an infection and that I needed a root canal.

Somehow, there was a cancellation at the endodontist's, so off I went. She was really nice but after she folded, spindled, and mutilated, she said that it wasn't worth doing a root canal -- I need to have the tooth extracted and replaced by an implant. (Sounds very high tech to me).

And how did I behave in her office? Like a baby. They kept saying "try to relax" and "think about a place you'd rather be". And I'd try to breathe deeply, as I was taught (and re-taught) to do. I'd get a few breaths into it and then try to concentrate on not hyperventilating. I appreciated the reassurance, but I couldn't keep myself from shaking. Clearly, I need to get used to all this, given that I'll be seeing dental specialists for a while.

And I will practice my breathing, even if I'm not very good at it when I'm upright.