Tag Archives: dentist

Cottonmouth

Cottonmouth: (n) a venomous snake of the swamps in southeastern U.S., that grows to about 4 feet

Camping is where two people possessing limited experience take five other people who have no experience, to convince those individuals that they, in their limited experience, are actually frontiersmen.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I didn’t know this when I was younger.

I got invited to go on a “woodsy trip” because some of my friends thought it would be nice to have me along so I could be funny and tell stories over the fire at night while they toasted marshmallows to a perfect golden brown.

What they did not realize is that I do not favor huge amounts of physical exertion and have been known to sweat when over-thinking. During the day, I found myself an annoying appendage on a process that needed no annoyance other than insisting that a bunch of know-nothings could go into the wilderness and pretend that their “inner cave” people would come to the surface and teach them.

One of the warnings from our two experts—who, we later found out, had simply read a book on the subject—well, one of their admonitions was to “watch out for poisonous snakes.” In this particular region, the most popular variety of the varmints was called a cottonmouth.

I, for one, was curious how the creature had gotten its name, and was told “not to worry much about it because most of the snakes in the area were black snakes, not cottonmouths.”

I paused. I said, “Do they look differently?”

“No,” replied one of the guides. “They’re both black.”

Figuring I had come up with the best possible follow-up question, I queried, “Since they’re both black, how do you know the difference between a black snake and a cottonmouth?”

He rolled his eyes at me. “Don’t be silly,” he chided. “The cottonmouth has a white mouth, which is obvious.”

Everybody else sitting around the circle accepted this explanation. It stirred some concern inside me. If I was going to be close enough to see the inside of a snake’s mouth, to determine whether it was just your average black snake or a cottonmouth, wouldn’t I already be in trouble?

Unless I had a reputation of being a dentist to the reptilian world, I don’t think they would be opening their mouths unless they were planning to bite me.

I was about to bring up this point to my friends when one of the guides—the leaders of our bodies and souls—patted me on the shoulder and said, “Come on. Just trust the Lord.”

As he walked away, I thought, didn’t God warn Adam and Eve about the serpent? 


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Cavity

Cavity: (n) a decayed part of a tooth.

I was a fully grown man with bills and everything when a dentist was finally honest with me.

He looked into my mouth, peering at cavities, and produced a slight grimace. Being a good Mid-Western boy, I closed my jaw and quickly
 apologized for my bad teeth.

He just smiled at me and said, “There’s nothing you can do about it. Some people are born with good teeth. And some people keep me in business.”

I have used floss, every kind of toothpaste known to man, and I’ve even brushed my teeth with baking soda.

Them tooths just do what they want to do.

I feel like my teeth stopped at an emotional age of about fifteen years of age, and they just lounge around, do whatever they please, and only become upset if you bother them too much.

So several years ago, when I asked my dentist what he thought about the teeth that remained in my mouth, the same chap replied, “Do for them what you can. But I wouldn’t be in any hurry to put dentures in there, because they’re a real pain in the ass. Well actually, pain in the head.”

So my teeth and I have a truce: they agree not to bother me as long as I abstain from peanut brittle.

 

 

 

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Anteroom

dictionary with letter A

Anteroom (n.): an antechamber, usually serving as a waiting room.

Of course, we never call it an anteroom.

But I’ve had my fair share of being in waiting rooms. I think most of us have. Three occasions pop into my mind immediately.

When I was seven years old, my parents found a dentist about ten miles from our town who stubbornly refused to join the modern world of pain-free tooth care, and insisted that all of the chemicals and medicines that were injected into young children to relieve the discomfort of repairing teeth were going to cause a generation of sterile adults.

Of course, he had no basis for the theory, but my parents thought he was a pioneer and a patriot so they decided to use him as our family dentist.

I have two startling memories of this experience.

Number one was sitting in the anteroom, waiting my turn, hearing the moans and groans of other children subjected to the Neanderthal treatment.

Additionally was enduring both the lecture and the pain of having my teeth drilled by a gentleman who was certainly soon to be declared a medical dinosaur.

The second waiting room experience that pops to mind was when I was a mere nineteen-year-old, waiting for the birth of my first son. Having no idea of the process, and being surrounded in the waiting room by veterans of the procedure, I remember fidgeting until I forced myself to need to pee, and therefore being out of the room when the doctor came in to tell me of the birth of my child.

The third and final memory is a rather unpleasant one of being in the Emergency Room of a hospital in Mobile, Alabama, waiting to hear the status of my son who had been hit and run by a car. Being raised in the Midwest, I was filled with optimism, believing that the medical field would be able to put my little Humpty Dumpty back together again.

That night, over and over again, I was given bad news, each time deepening in darkness. Matter of fact I was so inundated with dreary reports that I nearly ran from the room, screaming, to escape the mania.

So when I think about waiting rooms, I realize that they are a perpetual paradox. First you have “waiting”–not the best profile for any human being. And then, you have a room, which normally has four walls, increasing claustrophobia and fear.

I certainly hope there’s no waiting room in heaven.

Don’t you?

 

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Anatomy

dictionary with letter A

Anatomy: (n) — the branch of science concerned with the bodily structure of humans, animals and other living creatures, especially as revealed by dissection.

“To thine own self be true.”

I think the quote is attributed to Shakespeare.

Pursuing that path of candor, let me tell you that I often do a terrible job keeping up with my own anatomy.

For a season in my life, I went to the doctor regularly, as good Americans should do. It is also the only passage of time when I went to the hospital, took tons of medication and became overly concerned about my mortality.

It is also my understanding that normal people go to the dentist every six months for a good check-up. Fearing your condemnation, I must honestly inform you that I go to the dentist if I have a toothache.

It’s not that I fail to respect the complexity or fragile nature of my human anatomy. I am fully aware that disease, conditions and difficulties can arise without my knowing it from merely peering in the mirror. Cancer can even be growing in my body at this moment without me having placed an order or granting permission.

It’s just that I’ve reached a certain age … where I’ve reached a certain age.

What I mean is that in some ways I have exceeded my expectation for longevity, believing at one time that by now I certainly would have taken the “Great Leap” into the abyss.

But I haven’t.

And I do know that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life discussing medications, consulting with my doctor or going onto web sites to track my symptoms.

What do I want from my anatomy? What do I desire my body to do for me?

1. Respond to my actions.

If I eat a double pepperoni pizza, my body is allowed to have revulsion over the concept. But if I eat well, I certainly anticipate quid pro quo.

2. Help me to exercise sufficiently for a man my age without believing that a shot of testosterone will turn me into a twenty-five-year-old male stud.

3. Be so kind as to warn me before killing me.

Yes, if my body would just send an eviction notice, giving me thirty days to “raise the rent,” I would greatly appreciate that.

4. Help me learn how to do “me” better.

I’m not telling you I will never go to a doctor. But case in point: upon arriving at a car dealership, it is very difficult to leave with your old vehicle without somebody trying to either replace it or update it.

The same is true with medicine. They are good at what they do, so they find things wrong with us.

It’s just that if it isn’t a “sickness unto death,” well … maybe I don’t need to know.

 

 

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Abscess

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abscess: n. a swollen area within body tissue, containing an accumulation of pus.

I was trying to figure out an acceptable–dare I say pleasant?–way to present the concept of pus. Absent any constructive idea, I was reminded of a time when I was infected with the nasty goo.

I was twenty-two years old, traveling around the country without very much money and no health insurance. One day my face started to swell up. It is a frightening thing when you are fairly homely, to realize that it is possible to become even more unattractive. At first I didn’t worry about it, which was stupid, but then on top of the swelling came great pain, light-headedness, a sensation that I had been beaten up and humiliated by a gang of aggressive nuns, and a little nausea.

I was sick.

I went to a doctor who was gracious enough to offer free service. It was good that it was free, because he thought I had a “cold in my jaw” and suggested antihistamines. I am sure that the medication did kill all my histamines, but they did not seem to be the source of the great swelling.

Finally, near the point of passing out from my affliction, my friends drove me to a dentist in Jacksonville, Florida, who looked inside my mouth, and with a bit of horror etched across his face, announced, “You have a severely abscessed tooth.”

No part of that sounded good. He suggested a treatment of antibiotics for two weeks to reduce the swelling, and then he would pull the troublesome tooth. I laughed through my pain and explained that I would not be in town in two weeks, and that I needed something done today.

He paused. I don’t know what was crossing his mind, but I imagine it had something to do with disposing the body in the Atlantic Ocean if the big, fat boy sitting in his chair died from the treatment given in his office. Actually, I will never know why he did it, but on the spot he chose to give me oral surgery, which included five shots of Novocaine, which did not deaden the anguish. Then he cut inside my mouth and squeezed out all the poison and pus from the swelling.

It was gross, sickening, painful, ugly and all the time he was doing it, he was saying little oaths and curses under his breath because he realized that he was in the midst of a great malpractice suit.

He squeezed and he squeezed, and I cringed and I cringed. After about fifteen minutes, he was satisfied that he had drained the well. He sewed me up, handed me some antibiotics and after about a week, I was well again.

Oh, did I mention that in the same sitting, he reached in and yanked out the tooth? I think he was convinced that if I left his office, I would never try to get help again.

That was my experience with an abscess. Sometimes you just have to cut into it and squeeze out the guck.

It is never pleasant, but if you don’t, all the poison ends up winning.

Abrazos

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abrazo: (n.): an embrace.

Yeah, but what KIND of embrace?

In all my years of traveling on the road, I have discovered that there are basically four types of hugs. (Well, five if you want to count the one you do in bed with the person you love to generate romance.)

But let us say four types of hugs that are permitted fully clothed in public:

The first one is the quick embrace, placing hands around the neck, careful that torsos don’t meet. This is normally  practiced in Hollywood, church circles and at family reunions where adolescents are accosted by grandmas.

Then there is the show of affection where someone comes up from the rear and hugs your back–usually fairly quickly as a means of encouragement when you’re heading into the dentist’s office, getting ready to take a test, or are on your way to get your income taxes done.

The third hug is when someone holds their arms out like a great Russian, Jewish mother and welcomes you in for a full body encounter. Of course, the difficulty with this one is that once interlocked,  one has to figure out how long to hold it–just short of ridiculous, but beyond nervous. After all, the first one to release is the wimp.

And finally, the other hug that I became familiar with by participating in sports is what you might refer to as the manly chest bump. It is the acceptable form of masculine communication of affection without communicating ANY notion of homosexual tendencies. It’s more like “pecs meeting pecs,” with some pounding on the back by hands quickly releasing, ending in some sort of ridiculous high-five.

So of the particular ways of connecting that are available, obviously, the bedroom intertwining is the most pleasant.

I guess when you get a word like abrazos–with the ambiguous definition of “an embrace”–you have to establish the quality of the embrace and the style–by how much you would elongate the vowels in the word.

For instance, it could be an “abrazos.” Short, brief antiseptic.

Or it could be an “abra-z-o-o-s.” We’re gettin’ warmer.

Or finally, it could be an “a-bra-a-a-z-o-o-os.” Boom. Touchdown.

I like hugs. I don’t particularly like it, however,  when people inform me BEFORE they hug me that they are a “hugging person.” It takes away some of the spontaneity and specialness of being hugged. Yeah, it’s kind of a Baskin Robbins embracing philosophy: “Now serving #84.”

But as analytical and critical as you may want to get about two people joining their bodies in closeness, any embrace is a lot better than standing at a distance … and judging each other.

Abattuta

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter AAbattuta: (adv.) a musical term meaning to return to strict tempo.

Sometimes I think life should be more musical–not in the sense of bursting into song while you’re waiting for your meatball sandwich at Subway, but musical in the sense of flourishes in timing, with exciting melodies and enhancing harmonies. Music grants you the ability to suddenly play very fast. And then … you can abattuta! Return back to your strict timeframe.

Life is not that way. It takes sixty seconds to make a minute, an equal number of minutes to make an hour, and twenty-four of them eventually make a day. Wouldn’t it be great if you had some sort of control–like a conductor’s baton–to make certain portions of your daily composition go quicker?

In other words, when you go to the dentist and he’s drilling on your teeth, you could increase the tempo–get out of the chair with a flourish. And then, as you were allowing the Novocaine to wear off and you stop at that Steak and Shake to reward yourself with a delicious chocolate-marshmallow milkshake, you could slow the tempo w-a-a-y down, allowing the ooey-gooey to eek its way down your throat.

You could speed up church services and slow down romance.

You could accelerate the interchanges you have with your children to confirm that you’re a good parent, and slow down the ending of the game, which finally, for a change, is actually close and interesting.

Maybe that’s the whole problem–life is too abattuta. Because when we try to relish moments, the clock frowns at us and continues its steady pursuit of strict formality.

Yes, clocks are like that. Still, I will search for a way to freeze moments so I can enjoy them even more as they thaw out. And I will hum songs and think happy thoughts to speed through those activities that are truly grueling and boring. Yet I know there will always be the abattuta to taunt me back to the mature notion of remaining in strict time.

I guess I never saw God as the conductor of an orchestra. To me, He’s more like the guy who plays the triangle. He lets the symphony ensue, but every once in a while, inserts his two-note passage that seems to make all the difference in the world.