feste_sylvain

Did I mention that I went 15 years between dentist visits? Yeah, that was until this year, where I've had four already. (It seems that when you go 15 years between dentist visits and they have to blast off that much tartar, which is apparently petrified plaque, they do it in two sessions, and then schedule quarterly visits to make sure the teeth haven't fallen out from that much cleaning.)

Anyway, my last appointment, which confirmed that my teeth have continued not to fall out, but then (after the initial appointment and the two major cleanings), they finally noticed that I have a scar on my tongue.

"I don't like the look of those bumps. I want you to see an oral surgeon."

For a scar?

"How'd you get that?"

I bit my tongue. Hard. I gouged down about a quarter-inch. It bled like crazy, but I stanched it with whiskey.

"I still want you to see an oral surgeon. I'll write you a referral."

?

Well, part of the trick is that this is an oral surgeon, so not only do they need a referral from the dentist, they also need a referral from the primary care physician. So I called up my PCPh, explained the deal, and they faxed over a referral, based solely on my dentist's referral (and possibly some previous relationship with the oral surgery in question, which has four surgeons on staff).

This morning, I fought more traffic than should really have been on the road at 8:30am, and got to my appointment fifteen minutes late. This was apparently not a problem, as they then made me fill out two sides of the first form, and then sign two more forms which told me that they wouldn't abuse the information on the first form.

Finally, a young nurse oral hygienist assistant took my blood pressure, which was absurdly high (157/110). She then switched the cuff to my other arm, where it was only 150/100. I decided that their cuff was for crap, as the last three times I've given blood, my pressure was only 120/85. Either that, or I'm exploding. Anyway, the assistant thought that the bumps only looked like scar tissue, but that the surgeon would be in soon. She then described what a biopsy would be like, if the surgeon decided I needed one.

So the surgeon finally came in, and he was wearing one of those twee necklaces that a lot of baseball players do to "balance their chi" or some other newage bullshit. He dismissed the blood pressure reading, claiming "I think everyone's blood pressure goes up ten points just by coming through our door". Yeah, either that or your blood pressure cuff is for crap.

But he looked at my tongue, clucked his own tongue at my paranoid dentist, declined to do any biopsy, because it was obviously scar tissue. "How'd you bite your tongue that hard?"

I had a mouthful of meat. My tongue is made of meat. I got confused.

"Well, we'll have to keep an eye on it, to make sure it doesn't change."

Okay.

"You don't smoke, do you?"

I'm allergic to tobacco, so, no.

"That's a great allergy to have."

It wasn't back when people smoked at the office.

"So it probably isn't cancer."

Thank you.