I’m on the porch flipping through the Italy section of my latest travel catalog when a tooth in my lower right jaw throbs. Please stop, I tell it. I try to distract myself with descriptions of Italy’s art, culture, and the vine-clad Tuscan hills. I linger over images of the turquoise Mediterranean coast and its picturesque villages, with cobblestone streets. I even learn the Italian phrase La Dolce Vita, which means The Sweet Life. But the toothache still demands my attention.

It can’t be the last molar, since that one has had a root canal. It can’t be the tooth ahead of it since that’s gone, covered with a bridge. It must be the bicuspid.

It persists in throbbing. I close the catalog and call the dentist. 

They know who I am since I have frequent flyer miles with them. At my last biannual cleaning, the hygienist looked at all the work I had done and commented, “Wow, you have a new car in here.” As the dentist checks out the tooth, I have a sinking feeling that I’m about to be grounded. 

Sure enough. I need a root canal, and that's only the first major expense if I'm lucky. I might need an implant. Maybe two. Arrivaderci Italy. 

I don’t mean to complain. I’m a huge fan of dentists and root canals, which take the pain away and let me get on with my life. Still, those images of sipping wine at a Mediterranean villa are hard to let go of.

I know you’ve had the same experience. You save money for something fun, and then—boom!—the furnace goes out, the roof needs repair, the car makes a strange noise, or you have an unexpected medical bill. Life is a lot like travel. You arrive at the airport and find out that severe weather has caused a delay to your plane. The disappointment is heavy, like a suitcase filled with unfulfilled wishes. But we buckle our seat belts, adjust, and ride out the turbulence.

I’m happy to get an appointment soon with a root canal specialist. Assistant Rachel offers me sunglasses to shield me from the glare of the overhead light, much like a flight attendant offers snacks. Dr. Brittany reclines my chair, which is more comfortable than any airline seat I’ve been in. She numbs the area, checks her instruments, and we prepare for takeoff. I pray for a safe landing.

As the instrument she’s using vibrates and I feel slight pressure, I close my eyes and let myself stroll through a sun-kissed vineyard. I sit at an outdoor cafe in a charming medieval city and soak in the local color. I’m gliding on a gondola through Venice when Dr. Brittany says, “You’re all done.”

Wow! I wave goodbye to my imaginary gondolier and happily call out, “La Dolce Vita!”

As Rachel removes my dental bib, the alluring romance of Italy fades away. I sit up. She asks me how I am.

“Fine,” I answer. In fact, a root canal is easier than wheeling luggage, navigating security, and hurrying to the correct gate only to find out your flight is delayed.

I thank Dr. Brittany and Rachel and feel weightless as I leave the chair. I follow instructions, and things steadily improve. It’s time to celebrate. Since I’m on antibiotics, I substitute the Wisconsin cranberry wine I love for Ocean Spray. I find my fanciest wine glass and fill it to the top. I join my husband and our cuddly puppy-dog, who thumps his tail happily, in front of the TV.  I swirl the scarlet liquid in the glass, then sip. Pleasantly tart with a zing; Wisconsin’s own version of  La Dolce Vita. 

We watch a romantic comedy set in Italy, and for a few hours, I’m immersed in its sights and sounds. I sigh contentedly. Ah, yes, it’s a sweet life.