She said, “My boy, I think someday
You’ll find a way
To make your natural tendencies pay
You’ll be a dentist
You have a talent for causin’ things pain
Son, be a dentist
People will pay you to be inhumane
Your temperament’s wrong for the priesthood
And teaching would suit you still less
Son, be a dentist
You’ll be a success
- “Dentist!” from Little Shop of Horrors
I feel bad for dentists. Of all the medical professionals out there, I image patients dislike visiting the dentist the most. At least that’s how I feel. Unfortunately, I found myself in the dentist’s chair yesterday morning for a cleaning. Is there anything worse than the sound of the hygienist’s pick (that’s the technical term, right?) scraping the plaque out from in between your teeth? Maybe fingernails on a chalkboard, but that’s about it.
Remember when you were a kid and you got to wear Mickey Mouse sunglasses to keep the bright light from the lamp above the dentist’s chair out of your eyes? You could pick from a variety of flavors for your flouride treatment, from root beer to bubble gum to cherry. At the end of your appointment, you’d receive a goody bag that contained a toothbrush, dental floss and a excess of stickers. Visiting the pediadontist was a veritable party!
Last night I went to the ER with cramps in my lower right abdomen. Five hours later I was diagnosed with acute gastroenteritis. However, the experience wasn’t a total waste of time. After bloodwork and a CT scan confirmed that the pain it wasn’t appendicitis or anything having to do with my liver or gallblatter, I had a sonogram to check for ovarian cysts. Why am I telling you this? Because not only are my ovaries completely healthy, they are also perfectly sized and placed, according to the tech. Usually one ovary is larger or sits higher than the other, but my reproductive organs look exactly like they do in the textbooks–and apparently that is uncommon.
I’m so proud of my ovaries. Thanks, Mom and Dad!
(image source)
A friend once told me that I go to the emergency room more than anybody she knows. That may be true. I’ve been averaging about once a year for the past couple of years. I went again tonight (sort of), only this time it was for J.
This morning, as he ran into the office to check the fax machine, J stubbed his toes on a large, unpacked box parked right in front of the doorway. Brilliant. He yelped out in pain for about 10 seconds and then forgot about the whole thing, until we were walking around Williams-Sonoma nearly 8.5-hours later. Suddenly his toes hurt so badly that he was limping. When we got home and he took off his shoes, it was obvious that something was not right with the middle toe on his left foot. It swollen and purple. He iced it, and after researching “broken toes” online, decided that it was indeed most likely broken and that he should probably have it x-rayed. So we jumped back into the car and raced down to the urgent care center near where he works. It took us 25 minutes to get there, and then I had to sit for 45 minutes by myself in the waiting room, with nothing but CNN as entertainment. (Did Paris really get sprung from prison because of a rash?)
The diagnosis? His toe is probably not broken, just badly bruised, but a radiologist would have to confirm the x-ray reading tomorrow. In the meantime, he’s not supposed to run, should ice his toe several times a day, and can take a ludicrous amount of Motrin to ease the pain.
Another night lost to a medical emergency. And I was looking forward to chatting with LS on the phone!
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