My parents have always been of the "eat to live, don't live to eat" philosophy. And they have both remained slender into their eighties. I have always loved and enjoyed my food, and there is no need to discuss my weight.
Buffets are of paramount interest to me because of the unbeatable combination of variety and quantity, and this extends to nearly all types of food. So far I have been to Italian, French, Mexican, American, and Chinese buffets, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner buffets. Doesn't it make your mouth water to think of all that food?
Tonight we chose Chinese. This buffet is especially fantastic because of its crab rangoon. Plus it has desserts. After a heaping plate of my favorites, it was time to consider the last all-important course. Bananas in raspberry sauce, pineapple, orange slices, tapioca and chocolate puddings, cake and pastries... or the crowning glory, soft serve ice cream in three flavors. You remember the old adage, "Ice cream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream"; of course the ice cream won, and it was further improved by adding the bananas and pineapple. I was headed for the hot fudge sauce bucket when I was loudly redirected by our server. I had been inches from dousing my dessert with Moo Shi Sauce. I celebrated the near tragedy by heaping whipped cream over the hot fudge sauce, etc.
While spouse and I dined, we observed our fellow diners and the restaurant staff. The staff bring their children to work every day, or at least every day that we're there, and they are entertaining to watch and overhear. What I find especially nice is that the staff and their family members take plates from the same stack we do, and serve themselves from the same buffet food as we do.
We got moderately interesting fortunes. "Be willing to believe in anything that is good," and "Most people, once they graduate from the School of Hard Knocks, automatically enroll." We didn't really grasp that second one. Maybe we're slow learners.
Afterwards, I had only one question, which is destined to go forever unanswered. Why, with all that scrumptiousness at hand, was our server walking around with a Cup Noodles?
May 19, 2010
May 15, 2010
Dental Despair
In my early school years, I walked a mile or four to see Dr. Koswan (phonetic spelling), the family dentist. I needed about seventeen fillings because in the 1960s it was neither fashionable nor financially possible to have biannual cleanings. Probably I brushed my teeth as a child, but I don't have any memories of it. What I remember from Dr. Koswan's appointments are wads of cotton and, once, a droplet of mercury on the floor that Dr. K. was trying to pick up with a curled up piece of paper. Maybe he should have used the wad of cotton to soak it up.
Then we moved out of Danvers, and I took my shiny silver fillings away from Dr. Koswan. It would be years before I returned to a dentist's office, and then it was like an instant replay; more cavities, more fillings. If I hadn't had the good fortune to abscess a tooth, it would have been an even longer vacation from that chair that goes up and down.
I reached adulthood with lots of fillings and a serious fear of dentistry, but now I had dental insurance, so there was no financial reason not to go every six months. Which I did. I lied about flossing daily, and didn't realize until years later when I actually started flossing daily that they knew I was lying. I had my wisdom teeth out while I was pregnant with child number two, and healed in record time. It went well, and hearing the impacted tooth crunch and crumble as the dentist wrestled with it didn't faze me. I was gradually losing my fear, and came to look forward to the cleanings.
Once we had children, we started them on the biannual cleaning routine at age three. Meanwhile, water had become fluoridated. As a result, our girls got through their childhoods with only one cavity between them. One day when they both had cleanings, I was told that they both had two cavities, but I refused to believe it. I took the girls for a second opinion, and neither one had a cavity, but they both had a new dentist.
The girls had no cavities, I had no more cavities, I was flossing, things were going well. Isn't dental insurance a wonderful thing? My new adult dentist complained that my mouth was so healthy that he wasn't making any money. The hygienists would tell me that I had a couple of cracked teeth, but it was easy enough to chew on the other side. They mentioned that I ground my teeth and should order a mouth guard, from them, for about $100, not covered by insurance. But there was no pain, and that was the important thing, so I got my own mouth guard from the store, tried it a few nights, and couldn't stand it any more.
Then as I slid out of the forties and into the fifties, things slowly took a turn for the worse. I lost half a molar flossing, and needed a crown, my first. But first the dentist had to laser off the gum that had moved into the spot vacated by the broken tooth. The nitrous oxide put my hands to sleep which would have been perfect if that was where the suffering was. The chair was tilted back so far I was nearly doing a headstand. But I told myself I would have a brand new gold tooth after all this - or at least in a few weeks when they had finished making it from the mold. It was a blast from beginning to end, made even better because insurance covered only half of it.
I had to increase the cleanings to three a year, one of which was not covered by insurance, because I had the beginnings of periodontal disease. I bought an electric toothbrush from the dentist's office, used it faithfully, flossed daily, and hoped for the best. Then for my 52nd birthday, I got an abscessed tooth. This required Advil every four hours until I was able to snag an appointment at the dentist's about six days after the pain and swelling started. Maybe the tooth can be saved, said the dentist, who sent me to a root canal specialist. A root canal! Just what I've always wanted. The specialist took a digital xray and gave me the good news - this tooth cannot be saved. I had reached this conclusion myself. Any time a tooth lifts itself up out of the gum there has to be a serious consequence. It was a back tooth and difficult to hygienisize, anyway.
I called the dentist's office and discussed the pros and cons of having the dentist vs. an oral surgeon. The oral surgeon is much more expensive, said the receptionist, and you would have to wait until the next blue moon. The dentist could do the extraction in a few days. All things considered, I chose the dentist. How bad can it be? I had my wisdom teeth out two at a time, and I walked out of the office with a mouth full of gauze, but I could still walk.
On the big day, I had Novocaine and nitrous oxide, and my head was strapped to the chair. It was not an auspicious beginning. Spouse was in the waiting room and would hear me if I screamed. Which I did not, but there may have been some whimpering, especially when she was digging into the gum for stray pieces of broken tooth. It was a frightful, horrendous experience and it went on for an hour and a half. I did manage to walk out of there, and would have run if I wasn't still light-headed from chemical ingestion. Then I got to experience day-after face swelling so amazing that co-workers told me I looked awful and should go home. Speaking was difficult as my lips no longer met and my words were slurred so I took their advice, and then stayed home another day.
A week after the extraction I went back so the stitches could be ripped out. Tiny food particles had gotten lodged into the new vacancy and I had had some shooting pain in my jaw because of it. The dentist got her vacuum cleaner and took care of that little problem while I tried very hard not to cry. She then applied some plaster of paris-like stuff to the wound and said that it should help to keep more food out. We didn't want the gum healing over food particles which would get infected, did we? Speaking for myself, that would be a resounding NO. One of my favorite moments that day was when I was in the chair, tilted way back once again into that oh-so-familiar position, and heard the dentist tell her assistant to schedule a crown for the tooth next to the extraction. No, thank you. Thank you. No.
In the next month, I had an appointment for a cleaning. Cleanings were done on the "other" side of the office, and the hygienist has always been gentle, so in I went. I overheard the receptionist saying farewells to the hygienist, and learned that it was her last day there, and that she was moving to another office in town. That was all I needed to hear.
My new dentist, who has a great, familiar hygienist wink wink, does not use nitrous oxide. If a tooth needs to be extracted, the patient is sent to an oral surgeon who presumably anesthetizes the patient to unconsciousness or close to it. Isn't that the way surgery should be?
During my second cleaning appointment at the new office, my new dentist strongly suggested scaling my teeth because of the deep pockets my gums have developed which seek and hold bacteria, leading to serious gum problems. These scalings are done in four quadrants, and are only 50% covered by insurance, and they sound 100% painful and unpleasant. If left untreated, there will probably be a need for gum surgery which removes the gum where the pockets have gotten too large. Maybe with a laser, maybe a chain saw, I'm not sure. I elected to heal myself by flossing and brushing three times a day and using both a plaque and a fluoride rinse to postpone the possibly inevitable.
Part of me is convinced that dentists will do anything to us that our insurance will cover, especially in this economy. But there is another part that is gearing up for what comes next, because "just say no" isn't always enough to chase away the low-down, mean-old, dreaded dental blues.
Then we moved out of Danvers, and I took my shiny silver fillings away from Dr. Koswan. It would be years before I returned to a dentist's office, and then it was like an instant replay; more cavities, more fillings. If I hadn't had the good fortune to abscess a tooth, it would have been an even longer vacation from that chair that goes up and down.
I reached adulthood with lots of fillings and a serious fear of dentistry, but now I had dental insurance, so there was no financial reason not to go every six months. Which I did. I lied about flossing daily, and didn't realize until years later when I actually started flossing daily that they knew I was lying. I had my wisdom teeth out while I was pregnant with child number two, and healed in record time. It went well, and hearing the impacted tooth crunch and crumble as the dentist wrestled with it didn't faze me. I was gradually losing my fear, and came to look forward to the cleanings.
Once we had children, we started them on the biannual cleaning routine at age three. Meanwhile, water had become fluoridated. As a result, our girls got through their childhoods with only one cavity between them. One day when they both had cleanings, I was told that they both had two cavities, but I refused to believe it. I took the girls for a second opinion, and neither one had a cavity, but they both had a new dentist.
The girls had no cavities, I had no more cavities, I was flossing, things were going well. Isn't dental insurance a wonderful thing? My new adult dentist complained that my mouth was so healthy that he wasn't making any money. The hygienists would tell me that I had a couple of cracked teeth, but it was easy enough to chew on the other side. They mentioned that I ground my teeth and should order a mouth guard, from them, for about $100, not covered by insurance. But there was no pain, and that was the important thing, so I got my own mouth guard from the store, tried it a few nights, and couldn't stand it any more.
Then as I slid out of the forties and into the fifties, things slowly took a turn for the worse. I lost half a molar flossing, and needed a crown, my first. But first the dentist had to laser off the gum that had moved into the spot vacated by the broken tooth. The nitrous oxide put my hands to sleep which would have been perfect if that was where the suffering was. The chair was tilted back so far I was nearly doing a headstand. But I told myself I would have a brand new gold tooth after all this - or at least in a few weeks when they had finished making it from the mold. It was a blast from beginning to end, made even better because insurance covered only half of it.
I had to increase the cleanings to three a year, one of which was not covered by insurance, because I had the beginnings of periodontal disease. I bought an electric toothbrush from the dentist's office, used it faithfully, flossed daily, and hoped for the best. Then for my 52nd birthday, I got an abscessed tooth. This required Advil every four hours until I was able to snag an appointment at the dentist's about six days after the pain and swelling started. Maybe the tooth can be saved, said the dentist, who sent me to a root canal specialist. A root canal! Just what I've always wanted. The specialist took a digital xray and gave me the good news - this tooth cannot be saved. I had reached this conclusion myself. Any time a tooth lifts itself up out of the gum there has to be a serious consequence. It was a back tooth and difficult to hygienisize, anyway.
I called the dentist's office and discussed the pros and cons of having the dentist vs. an oral surgeon. The oral surgeon is much more expensive, said the receptionist, and you would have to wait until the next blue moon. The dentist could do the extraction in a few days. All things considered, I chose the dentist. How bad can it be? I had my wisdom teeth out two at a time, and I walked out of the office with a mouth full of gauze, but I could still walk.
On the big day, I had Novocaine and nitrous oxide, and my head was strapped to the chair. It was not an auspicious beginning. Spouse was in the waiting room and would hear me if I screamed. Which I did not, but there may have been some whimpering, especially when she was digging into the gum for stray pieces of broken tooth. It was a frightful, horrendous experience and it went on for an hour and a half. I did manage to walk out of there, and would have run if I wasn't still light-headed from chemical ingestion. Then I got to experience day-after face swelling so amazing that co-workers told me I looked awful and should go home. Speaking was difficult as my lips no longer met and my words were slurred so I took their advice, and then stayed home another day.
A week after the extraction I went back so the stitches could be ripped out. Tiny food particles had gotten lodged into the new vacancy and I had had some shooting pain in my jaw because of it. The dentist got her vacuum cleaner and took care of that little problem while I tried very hard not to cry. She then applied some plaster of paris-like stuff to the wound and said that it should help to keep more food out. We didn't want the gum healing over food particles which would get infected, did we? Speaking for myself, that would be a resounding NO. One of my favorite moments that day was when I was in the chair, tilted way back once again into that oh-so-familiar position, and heard the dentist tell her assistant to schedule a crown for the tooth next to the extraction. No, thank you. Thank you. No.
In the next month, I had an appointment for a cleaning. Cleanings were done on the "other" side of the office, and the hygienist has always been gentle, so in I went. I overheard the receptionist saying farewells to the hygienist, and learned that it was her last day there, and that she was moving to another office in town. That was all I needed to hear.
My new dentist, who has a great, familiar hygienist wink wink, does not use nitrous oxide. If a tooth needs to be extracted, the patient is sent to an oral surgeon who presumably anesthetizes the patient to unconsciousness or close to it. Isn't that the way surgery should be?
During my second cleaning appointment at the new office, my new dentist strongly suggested scaling my teeth because of the deep pockets my gums have developed which seek and hold bacteria, leading to serious gum problems. These scalings are done in four quadrants, and are only 50% covered by insurance, and they sound 100% painful and unpleasant. If left untreated, there will probably be a need for gum surgery which removes the gum where the pockets have gotten too large. Maybe with a laser, maybe a chain saw, I'm not sure. I elected to heal myself by flossing and brushing three times a day and using both a plaque and a fluoride rinse to postpone the possibly inevitable.
Part of me is convinced that dentists will do anything to us that our insurance will cover, especially in this economy. But there is another part that is gearing up for what comes next, because "just say no" isn't always enough to chase away the low-down, mean-old, dreaded dental blues.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)