My Dentist Appointment

“You’re class III, did anyone tell you that?” the dental technician asked me, after leading me into the somewhat cramped but clean examination room.

“Well, yes,” I responded uncertainly.

“So you must know that because you are Class III, this sheet must go to your commanding officer. A follow-up appointment must be made before you leave the dentist’s office, and only your commanding officer is authorized to change your appointments and you may not miss any of your appointments without prior approval from him or her,” she said briskly, as she attached the waterproof napkin with what I always refer to as the “stainless steel necklace.” 

“Oh! No, I didn’t know that. But okay.”

Everybody knows that a soldier is not a soldier, or an airman is not an airman, without a brilliant smile and a painless grin. The military will not deploy a person to a remote location if they have dental problems (like a crown that has to be replaced, as in my situation) severe enough to warrant “Class III” status. Well, not like I would have been sent anywhere in the next several months, anyway, I thought to myself.

The dentist came in, did his thing of explaining the absolute minimum with what was wrong in my mouth, and the technician and he immediately teamed up on either side of me. They had me pry my mouth open, and they began poking around with their metal dentist utensils. I suppose he found where he was going, because before I knew it he had that scary-looking anesthetic needle out, and (I know everybody loves this part) I could feel him sticking my cheek and filling it with numbing fluid. Unfortunately, it wasn’t before he had dropped some topical anesthetic in the back of my throat, making me feel like I had lost whatever semblance of swallowing ability I had left after being laid flat on my back.

It was only minutes until they slapped a 6-inch by 4-inch rubber band (the texture of a popped balloon) over my mouth and were literally flossing it between the teeth on one side. It was completely unexpected, and I thought they were trying to suffocate me, but by this time I had so many things in my mouth all I could do was flail my arms and gasp.

“Are you all right?” the dentist asked, pulling away from his task for a moment to look at my wild eyes. (Actually, he couldn’t see my eyes, because I had on those dark glasses that I would normally wear when operating a weed-eater.)

All I could do is make some completely jarbled noises and gestures. I tried, very unsuccessfully, to demonstrate to the doctor that I couldn’t breathe; I did this by placing my hand over my chest and moving my hand up and down, then giving him the “cut off” sign like I was asking him to just stop right there and let me go home. He didn’t get it.  I couldn’t breathe, dang it all! In retrospect, my gestures could have been more enlightening, but I think my brain wasn’t receiving enough oxygen at the time to be thinking clearly. If it had, I probably would have just tried to breathe through my nose.

The dentist was very sympathetic to what he thought was my plight: “I know it feels very numb, but you are able to swallow. The medicine doesn’t take away your ability to swallow. If you need any suctioning, just raise your left hand,” he commented, as he returned to his task of working on my teeth. My hand went straight up, and in the split second between when she lifted up the suffocating mask and placing the suctioner in my mouth, I managed to say “I CAN’ BREE!” She was very nice and suggested to the doctor that they cut a small hole in the plastic so that I wouldn’t have hyperventilate solely through my nose. How considerate.

It was a long appointment. I had to use all of my energy to concentrate on breathing through my nose, and every once in a while I would begin to panic when the plastic would creep up and cover my right nostril (which was completely numb, by the way, along with that entire side of my face). The blasted technician only suctioned when I “asked” her to, and I promptly realized that the more I needed suctioning, the longer this process was going to last.

The dentist was very optimistic about my mouth, and told me that he would never have known it to be seven years since I had seen the dentist. I agreed, with at least three tennis balls’ worth of equipment in my mouth. However, I am 75% certain that, as he was finishing the fillings, I saw him take a closer look at something and say “Damn!” under his breath, before asking the technician for a different tool. I’m not sure what he was swearing about, but I was in no position to question him at that point.

When they finally finished, he shook my hand and said he would see me at the next appointment. I asked him what they still had to do in my mouth besides the new crown (the old one was installed incorrectly); he said that they would need to finish giving me fillings for the four cavities on the bottom teeth. I kind of gasped, and said “What? I have four more caries? Nobody told me I had any cavities at all on my bottom teeth!”

I’m sure he commiserated with me regarding the lack of communication, but he didn’t have time to respond. It’s all right; I’ll eventually get my teeth problems corrected. Until then, I’d better not miss an appointment. 

My New Life

The link below goes to a very special video that I watched this morning:

My New Life

You know, I have never been through this type of thing, so really I can only imagine the difficulties of surviving a plane crash as serious as theirs. But this story touched me, and I wanted other people to hear it, too.

Too many bananas with hot fudge....

A drop spatters onto the desk. Too valuable to waste, I automatically send a furtive glance over my shoulder, wary that someone might see me as I


use my finger to recover the treasured chocolate fudge. The four-and-a-half pounds of bananas have magically disappeared over the last 24 hours, piling up their peelings in the trash can like an incomplete reminder of how good this snack has been. In my mind, I can't help but try to calculate the risk of hyperkalemia and the subsequent occurrence of heart dysrhymthias; I rationalize to myself that it is okay, that the enormous amounts of sugar from the hot fudge topping will cause enough insulin release to counteract any abnormal electrolyte imbalances. This nursing stuff is really making me a weirdo, I have to admit.

Has it come to this? I ravenously down bananas and hot fudge while watching my wife's favorite teen soap opera, Vampire Diaries? The worst part is that I am enjoying it immensely, with a sort of subtle satisfaction that is evidenced best by the fact I don't feel even a tinge of regret. This is my life today; who knows what it will bring tomorrow! Actually, tomorrow is a 5k run in which I will probably not distinguish myself, not unless bananas and Original Goldfish have some secret athletic ingredient.

I'm going for a run, now. Hopefully the extra potassium helps me out.

My thoughts for the day

                The  housekeeper was doing it again, trying to guide me into habits that I really didn’t want to adopt. The white towel lay asymmetrically folded on the floor outside the shower, an obvious sign that whoever “cleaned” the room did not want to see any more wet on the old, gray tile. Well, if they get rid of the cockroaches that scurry out of the mats and towels on the floor, then perhaps I’ll begin using something like that after I leave the shower, I thought to myself with a hint of exasperation. Forty dollars per night amounted to a nice-looking bedroom, 1960’s-style bathroom, and a tiny sitting room with an uncomfortable loveseat. The trash was taken out every day, but sheets were changed on a weekly basis and apparently I was responsible for cleaning the sinks and toilet, unless I was willing to wait until utter filth took over and the housekeepers decided to do their jobs. The internet worked well before 9 am, after which it became miserably slow and inconsistent. In other words, I was a little bit peeved at the thought of staying here for another two months.

                The negativity turned around a little bit after glancing at my work schedule. I was to work with Captain Chhoeung today, a 50-yr old Cambodian with a thick accent that halted the dynamic expression of a very short, personable man with a life story worth the work of writing a historical novel. At the age of 29, after escaping years spent in Cambodian camps under the Khemer Rouge, he found himself in America, presented for the first time with the opportunity of any formal education. He learned to read and write, not only English but also Cambodian. Twenty years later, he is a medical doctor (with a Cambodian degree), a doctor of chiropractic medicine in the US, and a nurse captain in the United States Air Force. All of his children old enough to be in college are either doctors or en route to receiving their doctorate degrees, and his wife is also a BSN graduate.

                The nurses on the floor here at Wright Patterson AFB work very smoothly as a team, always offering each other assistance and advice where necessary. Roles are clearly defined, practices are standardized, and doctors corroborate effectively with the nurses. Salaried employees ensure that tasks are completed on time, and preceptors offer prompt and precise feedback on improvements to be made. I am able to look up disease processes, pharmacology and kinematics, and patient histories throughout my shift; never have I felt so enthusiastic about being able to continue my education while on the job! Patient census can become pretty high, but since the military doesn’t downsize their staff when census is low, I get more opportunities to learn throughout my shift than previously in civilian hospitals, even as a nursing student.

                Every day I focus my education on learning the metabolic pathways, chain reactions, and biological processes that affect my patients. Inflammation, hypersensitivity reactions, infection response, hormonal changes, and myriad other topics are becoming part of my daily routine whenever I find a free moment. I am trying to understand the mechanism of actions of each drug I administer, not only for better knowledge regarding the drug itself but as a resource for learning how the body works on a cellular level. Someday in the next several years I will find myself as a Doctor of Nursing Practice, prescribing drugs, diagnosing patients, and educating families regarding how their diseases work and how the treatments can affect their lives, and I am determined to have mastered as much education by that time as any medical family practice doctor.

                The military will provide me with a lot of those opportunities to learn. I can serve my country, and my family, by using this time to better educate myself and participate not only in my career but in making it my field of expertise. Nursing care comes first, of course, but I find that the two go hand in hand. For example, I recently taught a patient specifically how to use sterile technique and proper drug administration through a central line. She demonstrated it for me, and explained that in all of her years using central lines on herself she had never really understood about how to do it (and she has suffered an incredible number of infections related to the central lines).

                I am tired of being alone. I need Stephanie with me, I need to feel like I live somewhere again. Church has become almost a chore, since I barely know anyone and am very unmotivated to meet people under conditions of only being able to go to church meetings several more times (on my days off) over the next seven weeks. I look forward to getting to Mountain Home, settling in, getting a calling, and going home-teaching again! General Conference online gives me much-needed familiarity, as I listen to the GA’s talks in the morning during my daily preparations.

                I have made a couple of friends, however, who have invited me to work out in the gym. This morning I played tennis, ran, and did some calisthenics; I am in much better shape than two months ago, even if I still hover at the high end of the weight range for a healthy BMI. I hope to score over a 95% on the physical fitness exam, eventually a 100% if I can decrease my 1.5 mile run time by about a minute. We will have to see how that goes, and if I can keep up my workouts between now and then.

                Stephanie and I have had a hard time communicating, mostly because neither of us are very good at telephone conversations. Why does it seem so hard sometimes to talk to your spouse, just normal conversation? We did it all of the time when we were dating, and when we are together we often have really good talks! Hopefully, we will soon get through this little phase and not feel like something is “lacking” when we are talking to each other on the phone. I am not sure how I am supposed to feel about being separated from Braeden; it’s not like how I miss Stephanie. I miss Stephanie herself, everything about her, but with Braeden I miss the experience of being with him, instead of just missing him. The everyday things, the little things that are impossible to convey through an email or webcam, those are the things that are hard to miss in a little 18-month old.

                Anyway, these are my thoughts for the day, as boring as they are. This is really just kind of a record for me, so I can eventually print it out and have it as sort of a publicized journal of this moment. I wish I could do more than give you a snapshot of my life, but for now this little slice will suffice until I can share the entire cake, so to speak. Goodbye for now!

-Ben