With my daughter, Lindsay, in school across the country, I sometimes worry, “What if something happens?” Naturally, my heart fluttered when I received a phone call on Thursday morning.

“Mom, my tooth hurts. I think my wisdom tooth is coming in.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine; it’s just breaking through the gum. Gargle with saltwater.”

But on Friday morning, she said, “Mom, my jaw is swelling. It hurts so much,” her voice cracking. What should I do? I have to leave camp at noon tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry,” I tried to reassure her—foolishly. I don’t know any dentists in Chicago.

I called my friend Michelle for advice. She’s good at these sorts of things. Immediately, she replied, “Here’s one.”

For all we knew, it could have been a Mr. Smile in a strip mall, but it was already 1:00 on a Friday afternoon.

“Doctor’s office, Pamela speaking.”

“Hi Pamela, I’m a mom calling from Los Angeles. My daughter goes to college out there, and she is having a problem with her wisdom tooth. She’s in a lot of pain. Can you help me?”

For five minutes, we chatted about Lindsay’s school, living in California, and everything under the sun except her tooth.

Finally, “Can you send over any recent x-rays? That will save you lots of money.”

Money? The wheels began to spin out of control, like the reels on a slot machine. In emergency oral surgery, this will cost thousands of dollars, and I don’t have dental insurance.

“Mom,” I could barely understand her, “Pamela just called me and told me NOT to come in. My x-ray showed my tooth in a weird position. I need to call this other dentist.”

That other dentist would not be able to see Lindsay for a week.

I called Pamela, “Listen, can this dentist please see her? I need boots on the ground; you’re the only dentist I know. If he can assess the situation, maybe it’s infected. You can give her antibiotics or a painkiller until I can get it pulled.” I began to panic.

“Alright, I just hate to waste your money.”

“Please, I insist.”

“Can she be here at 8:55 tomorrow morning?”

When I first called, I had no idea where this area code was. Luckily, they were half a mile away from Lindsay’s apartment.

Saturday morning, Lindsay arrived sporting a furry moose hat, which barely snapped together under her swollen chin.

Lindsay texted, “They’re so nice. The dentist is wearing a white suit. They’re pulling it.”

I worried about the anesthesia and her recovery.

Twenty minutes later, I got a FaceTime call from Lindsay. “They gave me a shot of Novacaine, and boom, pulled it out! Three hundred dollars. It didn’t hurt at all! I feel so much better. The dentist said I should thank my mother and be grateful that she insisted that I come in. I could have been in serious trouble in 48 hours. Thanks, Mom!” She held her tooth up in its plastic case like a trophy.

“Wow, did that huge thing come out of your mouth?”

When I called to thank Pamela at 9:40, an answering service picked up my call. “No, they’re never open on Saturday. I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. Can I take a message?”

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