Quote of the Day

Patient: "Are we almost done?"
Me: "Yes. We are almost done." But what I REALLY wanted to say was this: "Yes. We are almost done, but you can't be seriously asking me that as a 26-year-old operating room technician and grown woman. You assist surgeons through hours and hours of surgeries at the hospital (many of them probably very goopy and gorey operations, no less) and you are seriously going to throw the "Are we almost done?" line at me? Sheesh. Lady, you're making me lose my gusto for my job, for dentistry, for life. I feel myself caving in to the low expectations I refused to have for people--at least up until now. I have concluded that the lower my expections are for my fellow man and/or woman, the better off I am. You just aren't disappointed as easily, no? Expected the unexpected, I say! But what really sealed the deal and made me want to use my shoe to boot her bum out of my chair is when she said this:
Patient: "If you can't tell, I hate the dentist. It makes me nauseous."
Me: "Yeah. I get that a lot." And then I thought about the four hour "blood clot" surgery she assisted with. To each his (or her) own. Until next time...;)

Ticket to Ride

The following is a "ticket" my mom received after parking at Green Bluff this past weekend (a very busy, and very crowded venue with little to no parking). Mind you, this is not a real ticket left by a legitimate authority figure. No, no. This ticket was left by some moron who felt that my mom had parked inappropriately (she wasn't, she took pictures with her cell phone and we all agreed she commited no parking crime). What really amazes me is that someone out there in the universe took the time and thought to draft this thing up, and has the nerve to leave it whenever, wherever he/she feels like it. They carry these things around with them! Then again, I am taking the time to blog about it. So, the question is, who is the one that needs to get a life? Don't answer that...Anywho, enjoy the verbage of this unbelievable gesture captured in paper form. It pretty much speaks for itself--loud and clear, no less:

Rectifying Birds

They tried to warn me. At the staff meeting this morning. Yup. They tried. About what, you ask? Oh, that my ten o' clock patient was a real doozy. I believe the exact word used was: "Crotchety." Awesome. Those crotchety people are my absolute fave. In fact, I prefer them. NOT. I used to fret and stew over difficult patients--you know, the ones with a reputation in the dental office. The ones that only require a mere mention of their name and the whole office shudders and then gives a collective, unspoken nod of understanding. I would anxiously watch the clock until the dreaded hour came when I would have to see Mrs. Stuck Up or Mr. Jerkypants. It was like a ticking time bomb. Dread. Absolute dread. I've now learned that there is nothing I can do from stopping these people from coming through that front door and into my operatory. It's like Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds." They'll find you--anywhere. And when they do, they pick and peck apart your sanity. It. Is. Painful. Today, he found me. And I'd even been warned.

I brought said "doozy, crotchety" patient back to review his medical history in a separate consultation room. First, he told me I had the wrong patient pulled up on the screen. Hmm. I doubt that there is another patient by your first and last name, sir. What? Is there another patient in this office who just happens to be taking the EXACT list of medications you claim to take? Does that patient miraculously have the same birthday and physical ailments you do, too, including (but not limited to): an appendectomy at the age of 14, a hernia, glaucoma, high blood pressure, hives/rash, gout, arthritis, and difficulty breathing, sir? I sincerely doubt it. I really do. But, if so, then that would be a freakin' miracle, wouldn't it, sir? So, let me just pretend to check to make sure I have the right "John Doe" when I am 110% positive that I do. You know how I know this? Because I'm not an invalid.
It gets better. Mid-sentence he interrupts me and as if I have earmuffs on he yells: "I'M HERE FOR A CLEANING."

I paused. I blinked. I looked him in the eye. And then I punched him in the face. OK. I didn't do that. But you better believe my fist thought about it real hard. Nothing would have given me more satisfaction than to have knocked number 9 from his maxilla (the only front tooth left dangling--and I do mean"dangling"). But instead of throwing down, I smiled, warmly (emphasis added), and simply stated, "Right. That's what we have you down for" (&*%^$@).

After we made it through our FIRST 3 MINUTES of the appointment, I escorted him back to my operatory, or as I like to call it, The Serenity Room. That's a story for another day and time, but let's just say there is a giant picture of a beautiful island oasis and I pretend I am there with Edward Cullen (I mean, my sweet Jason) most days instead of scraping "sugar bugs" and sucking spit from people's rotten teeth. As I was pathetically attempting (and failing) to make conversation with my favorite patient in the whole wide world, he looks at me, and again, spits out another interruption: "You talk too fast."

Again. The trembling fist. I jammed it into my pocket. I've worked TOO hard to lose my license now! He will NOT take this from me!

Me: "Yeah. And I mumble, too. My husband tells me all the time."

And here it is, the line of the day, quote of the year, word of my lifetime. You ready?

Mr. Crotchety: "You need to rectify that problem."

More blinking. And then do you know what I did? I laughed. Out loud. I laughed for two reasons: 1) Because I haven't heard the word "Rectify" for at least 2 years and had forgotten completely that it existed and 2) because that's what people do when they are in shock. Their comprehension drains from their head to their toes and then sputters out in the form of laughter. Un-freakin-believable. My response?

"Oh. Right. I'll add that to my list of things I need to do to improve myself. There's just SO many."

Does it go without mention that he had one of the nastiest mouths I've ever seen? That he doesn't floss and brushes maybe once a day? Do I really need to tell you that he acted shocked when I told him his teeth were loose and that they were going to fall out of his head? And that I literally had to hold them stable with my fingertip while I scaled them? Does it? Well. Now you know.

After he left, my front office manager came back to talk to me. I thought, "Oh, no. Here it comes. I'm going to get it." But do you know what she said to me: "YOU, young lady, have a huge fan!"

What?! NOOOO! I NEVER want to see him again! Ever (that's why I scheduled him with the other hygienist who happens to be in Hawaii for his next cleaning. You snooze, you lose!). That's right. Mr. Crotchety wants to see me next time. What have I done? I should have punched him. I should have! But like I said earlier, he would have found me anyway. I'm a magnet for those kind of people. It's the Lord trying to teach me patience and me just not getting it. Or blatantly refusing to. Birds. They're everywhere. I'm going for the right hook next time. It's my only defense.

Illiterate

My cousin, Brad, took this picture with his cell phone. It's not great quality. But this is what it says: "Non-Fiction Picture Books." Hmmm. I had no idea that "Where the Wild Things Are" and Dr. Seuss is now considered non-fiction. I guess you learn something new every day!

Dead Head

Quote of the day: "Are you going to get my WHOLE head numb?!!!!!!"

(If it means you'll shut up, then the answer is a big fat "yes").

I Forgot That I Was the Stupidest Person in the World

I've decided that old people (like really old people) are either the best thing in the world or the worst thing in the world. There is no middle ground with them. No gray area. They either exist to melt your heart or make your life completely miserable. Today, I dabbled in misery. An 88-year-old patient told me the following:

"You couldn't possibly understand."

*"You have that thing set up wrong" (in relation to my ultrasonic scaler). Me and my five years of university education are not even going to go there. After all, monkeys could scrape teeth, right?

*"I don't have time for xrays. That's just one more thing to tack on to my schedule." Because 88-year-old men who require rides to and from their dental appointments have SO much to do during the course of the day.

*"You be nice to your Grandfather. When you call him, don't talk to him too long. You'll bore him." I am NOT making this up!

*"I don't want a lecture about any of that stuff" after I simply asked him when he would like us to reschedule him for his next recare appointment.

*"I've been eating a lot of beets, and carrots, and beans." Hmmm. I hadn't noticed. Gag.

Oh, and don't even worry about the fact that I sucked up not one but TWO of his snot rockets with my high vac suction. I'd rant and rave about it all if it weren't for the fact that it is so darn sad. It is what it is. Oh, and I never want to be that old. Ever. But if I am, I want to be a "melt your heart" kind of old person. Until next time...;)

Warm Fuzzies

One of advantage of my job? I come in contact with eight or more complete strangers on a daily basis and get to freely pass judgment about them in my head. Sound harsh? Well, you can judge me then. Because c'mon! We all do it. And it's better than passing judgment out loud because that would cause all sorts of problems for my employer. Let's be real, the longer I work in my field, the less apologetic I get about the opinions I form of crazy people I encounter and their nasty mouths. Their wacky behavior shouldn't be something else I have to worry about, at least, that wasn't in the job description when I pictured myself running around in matching scrubs and my hair in an up-do six and a half years ago when I began this journey as a dental hygienist. There are countless times over the course of the work day when I am utterly flabbergasted by something someone does or says. And only one word comes to my mind each and every time over and over and over again: Why.

For example, it always blows me away when patients ask for recommendations regarding how to improve the health of their mouth. I am overly eager to open that little compartment in my brain labeled "Dental Hygiene" and share my wealth of knowledge. I did pay a good chunk of change to learn what I now know. And that little compartment in my head just about busts at the seams and screams "Open me! Share me!" And so when a patient actually expresses interest, my response is often one that is excited. Yes! Yes, Mrs. Jones! Let me tell you what you can do to reverse your gingivitis! I would love to do that for you, Mrs. Jones!

And then I proceed to recommend a Sonicare toothbrush to Mrs. Jones, because, after all, her two daughters have one. Surely they wouldn't mind their mother purchasing her own toothbrush head to snap on to the body of their brush and have at it all in the name of good oral hygiene. But do you know what Mrs. Jones does with my recommendation? I'll tell you what she does. She basically tells me to "Shove it" when she says: "Oh, well. The girls keep the Sonicare in a different bathroom downstairs so I can't use it."

Hey, Mrs. Jones. Seriously, why don't you take your right hand and give me a good whack in the nose. I'd prefer an actual slap in the face to your whipping with words. Because I don't understand you. Are you truthfully and honestly telling me as an adult woman with two children that you are incapable of walking down a flight of stairs to save you the expense of purchasing another Sonicare toothbrush and possibly hundreds of dollars of dental work in the form of non-surgical periodontal therapy and future osseous surgeries? Are you that dense? I'm thinking that you are because you JUST ASKED ME WHAT YOU COULD DO TO REVERSE YOUR GUM DISEASE AND I TOLD YOU SO WHY ARE YOU NOT LISTENING TO ME?! *Side note: You can't reverse all kinds of gum disease, but that's another subject for another day and time. Do you think I like to hear myself talk? (Don't answer that husband of mine). Good heavens, woman! You making me crazy!

And then I go home. Home. A place where you can relax and eat and laugh and rest and enjoy things that are normal. And I flip on the tube and this is what I find.

All kinds of crazy up in here! A Santa Snuggie? Really QVC? It hurts my heart that you thought this was a good idea because every time your pretty lil' models do a twirl in that hideous thing, I mistake it for the ugliest moo moo I've ever seen in my entire life. But then it trips me out because I think it really is Santa for a split second and I wonder if my mom and dad really didn't tell me the truth about him after all, but then the pitch woman completes her twirl and I am back to where I started where I see a young attractive female and not some 300-pound man with a round belly and white beard. It's just. plain. wrong. Also, that thing looked like it would fit Santa six times over. So is our country now promoting obesity in our make-believe characters, too? If so, this is no longer an epidemic but more along the scale of a pandemic now that it has reached the scope of the North Pole. And we should be seriously concerned. And I'm sorry, but people who call into QVC to commentate on Santa Snuggies have reached on all-time low in their life. Period. Jason and I did get a good laugh out of the whole experience, though. You know the kind that makes your soul feel better? Those are the best. I guess there is a need for crazy in this world after all. Until next time...;)