In Dec 2010, I lost my two upper incisors to emergency extractions, qualifying me for membership in the All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth club. Eight years later, I again find myself sitting not on Santa’s lap but in dental chairs presided over by my prosthodontist and oral surgeon (it’s a long story, involving fractured implants and lots of dental professionals muttering things like “Now, that’s interesting.” “You don’t see that every day,” and “We gotta write this one up.”)
Currently recovering from the first set of procedures, I am working on recapturing that elusive Christmas spirit, adjusting my attitude into a philosophical stance along the lines of The Prescription Pain Medication Bottle Is Half-Full.
For one thing, a significant portion of my courtship of The Duchess took place during the series of oral surgeries I underwent after that first emergency extraction. After she drove me to the next appointment, I belatedly realized I had forgotten my credit cards. Although she had known me only a couple of weeks, she opted to write a personal check for several thousand dollars rather than return home for my wallet. This caught my attention. And, when I repaid her a couple of days later, she began thinking that there might be something special between us. So, we view this 2018 dental intervention as a sort of renewal of our vows.
Further, because one of my professional interests is treatment adherence, I am using this dental dilemma as an opportunity to model behavior congruent with patient compliance. Placed on a clear liquid diet, for example, I immediately shifted from scotch to gin and eschewed chomping into the olives that grace the martinis.
Enough of this Yuletide whinging – in its place Heck Of A Guy offers this Nat King Cole sing-along: