Fun

Dream patient of the week

January 24, 2012 By Eva Watson 4 Comments

Remember that oath we took at graduation? I remember that oath. I swore, along with my classmates, that I would carry out the very best dental care to any and all patients who sat in my operatory chair; regardless of gender, race, or socioeconomic status, I promised to give everyone the best treatment I could.

I also remember wanting to hurl myself into the bathroom. The speech I had to give moments before gave me nervous diarrhea really bad.

We have our clinical side. Then we have our human side. The clinical side is a given: do what we were trained to do. My human side? A bit more personal. I tend to muse about extra-special people that I would give anything to have in my chair. Anything. Just once. And it’s because of their gender, race, SES, political ideology, etc., that I must perform my titillating hygiene duties on them.

We all have our idiosyncrasies. My OCD compels me to share mine. Hee-heeee!

Dream Patient of the Week: Steven Colbert

Mr. Colbert, if there’s any chance you accidentally enter this site while surfing the internets for plaque-disrupting inspiration, I would like you to know that I love you. Every American-y, flag-waving inch of you. I adore you. Are you tall? I like tall. You appear taller than John Stewart. I also like suits. You wear a lot of suits. I like that. And I’m not crazy. My husband tolerates me just fine. He’s just playing Skyrim again.

I love your smile. I love the way you single me out and point that finger at me when you’re in my television. I love your ties, your glasses, and your opening-credit eagle that swoops into my face and shrieks hello. That eagle looks like it’s gonna fly right into me. Here it comes– wheeeee! I like that eagle.

I will also state the obvious: I love your teeth.

Let me see those patriotic beauties- oh! There they are. I don’t care how much calculus is on them. I love every one of your teeth equally. If you had the blackest, most tenacious chunks of bad boy tartar stuck to every inch of enamel in your mouth, I would still love you. That’s not strange, Mr. Colbert. That’s dedication. All I ask is for the chance to have you lay waaaay back on my USA-made operatory dental chair while I give you such a stone-cold, subgingival scaling it will flip your cyclopean Super PAC, baby.

And, after I gently marinate your inflamed gums with a superfreaky course of chlorhexidine gluconate, I would like to hold your hands and teach you how to floss… properly. That’s right.

In closing, I would appreciate an opportunity to express my respect and admiration of your brain… because it’s silly. You have a silly brain.

Italian hygienist career opportunity?

February 6, 2011 By Eva Watson 3 Comments

by Eva Watson

Bored with Dental Hygiene?

Enter an exciting, new career as an International Companion!

Hello and welcome! My name is Sophia Arrapato and I am the founder and CEO of ‘Italiano Scortares’, a Trans global company dedicated to servicing the needs of our exclusive clientele.

As a previous dental hygienist, I have treated many patients for over twenty years. After my 18^th year of removing plaque and calculus, I eagerly wanted to pursue a new career as an entrepreneur, specializing in carnal pleasure. It only took less than twenty-four hours to say to myself, “Ho, scoperto! Sesso!”

It took intense market research and interviewing countless women, but I officially opened my doors in 2010 and business has been booming!

You will be known as an International Companion for Italiano Scortares, and as such will have the best plastic surgeons at your disposal, an endless array of erotic dancing apparel, and, after completing six weeks of intense training, you will be awarded with your very own Little Black Book. As the CEO of Italiano Scortares, I will screen all prospective clients prior to assignment; I insist on the enduring scruples and respectability I have incorporated into my empire.

As a new employee, you will have the honor of training under Nicole Minetti, an Italian dental hygienist, esteemed lap-dancer, and long-time political advisor to Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi. Her experience is vast and hilariously adulterated, so I ask you pay close attention to Ms. Minetti’s teachings and advice. She will guide you through your career and enhance your presence and clientele list here with Italiano Scortares.

I thank you for visiting our website and hope to meet with you soon. Make sure to floss daily!

Questo è amore!

Click on the images and links above to see why dentistry was dragged into this whole sordid saga.

Light with no shadow, like today’s groundhog

February 2, 2011 By Trish Walraven 10 Comments

by Trish Walraven

Did you really want to see that last pair of centrals in crisp detail? I mean, down to every last craze line and coffee stain?

If not, you’re probably one of those people that like shadows, you’ll want to go back down in your burrow and sleep through the next few months. Nothing uncomfortable or awkward for you, thank you. Please leave now – bye! – because the information below will only lead to spending money on things that you don’t care about.

Are they gone yet? Good. Now we can talk about this shadow business. Do you remember when you first started using loupes, how they made you sit up taller, take notice of things you never saw before, and how it is now that you cannot imagine working without them?

About a month ago I hooked a tiny little light onto my loupes in hopes that it would keep my back straighter. I didn’t really expect any more than that. At first it was nice, the light was whiter and just about the same intensity as the incandescent overhead light. Hmm. Then I realized that I had the power turned all the way down on the battery pack. What happened when I began dialing the light up was nothing short of a knee-trembling-Thank-You-Jesus epiphany moment. THE SHADOWS WERE GONE! I didn’t know that there were shadows in people’s mouths before. I didn’t realize that the shadows were extremely annoying in people’s mouths. I didn’t know that you could visualize the distal of tooth numbers 1 and 16 in full spectrum light and see down into that 4 mm pocket that never gets cleaned and scoop out that little yellow goo like a miner panning ankle-deep in a river of gold.

When you have a light attached to your glasses, it always spotlights your focus point exactly. It goes where you go (ouch! just don’t look your patient in the eye through your loupes). It helps you save time because you’re not always reaching up and adjusting the handle of the overhead light. And patients like it when they don’t feel like they’re in an interrogation session. It’s so free and breezy above the chair without all that equipment hanging over their heads.

Now that I’m using a headlamp it really is like a whole new world opened up to my eyes. It’s like the first time I started using loupes all over again. It’s like. Well it’s like something I should have done forever ago. The only two things that were holding me back until now were comfort and cost. I didn’t want to pay over $600 for what is essentially a flashlight. And I didn’t want it to be inconvenient to wear.

After evaluating just about everything offered at the dental meeting booths, one choice has ultimately claimed its place as my new pet: the LumaDent. Don Ton, DDS is the CEO of LumaDent, Inc. and he packs a great story about how his company got started from a DIY project, so I couldn’t resist supporting his business. Okay, I could have resisted if his product was no good, but in my opinion it is the best dental headlight available, for many reasons:

The Price. It is extremely reasonable for a niche market like dentistry. If you find it’s hard to swallow, geez, build it yourself. You’ll still need a battery pack, which you can purchase a la carte from LumaDent.

The Package. Totally turnkey. You get a rechargeable battery pack, a charger, a hip holster, a mount made especially for your type of existing frame, an orange filter, and all sorts of things to help you control your wires. If you have problems along the way, Dr. Don will make it right until you are happy.

The Promise. You hope that it will be comfortable. At 5 grams and a lens no larger than the size of a dime, the LumaDent weighs almost nothing. The headlight is only noticeable because of the wires. If you’re patient and work with the wires to learn how to wear them, they will be no more difficult to put on and take off than a tie. And as I stated before, the quality of the light is exceptional.

If you’re getting the idea that I was somehow coerced into this endorsement with money or discounted product that’s not the case here. I simply love my loupe light, I love juxtapositioning Punxsutawney Phil with shadowless dentistry and I hope to inspire you to see the way you practice in a whole new….

…way. Ha. You thought I was going to say light.

Dental trauma is not funny

January 28, 2011 By Eva Watson Leave a Comment

by Eva Watson

Dental Trauma is Not Funny… I lied. It’s kind of funny.

In an effort to provide the Dental Buzz audience with a little blurb of cheeky dental absurdity, I offer a tale- a tale of an ominous olive pit, its perilous journey into the oral cavity of Ohio Representative Dennis J. Kucinich, and the tooth that became a legend. The story begins in the year 2008.

Ahem…

Olive pit: OW! SON OF A #%@! The jerk just bit me! What the hell, man?!

Rep. Kucinich: I just bit down on an olive pit… oh, poop.

Tooth: Huh… that felt kinda good.

Olive pit: Are you whack, tooth?! What’s wrong with you?

Tooth: Well, I’ve been decaying away in this gentleman’s mouth for some time anyway. Gets boring. That was a lot of excitement for me.

Rep. Kucinich: Wow. My tooth really hurts.

Olive pit: That totally sucked! He hurt me! Which means YOU HURT ME!

Tooth: Oh, come on, olive pit. Don’t be such a wet ham. Didn’t that turn you on a little?

Olive pit: That’s not funny. Are you a sadist or something?

Tooth: You’re such a baby.

Rep. Kucinich: Umm- my tooth really hurts.

Olive pit: I’m not a baby. I’m injured!

Tooth: Live a little. You may like it.

Olive pit: The dude bit me, and now I’m forced to live in his colon. Lovely!

Tooth: Maybe I’ll get a root canal. That would be so hot.

Rep. Kucinich: Doesn’t anyone care about me?

Olive pit: Pipe down, Kucinich!

Tooth: Please get a root canal. Please-please-please?

Three years later…

Rep. Kucinich: My tooth still hurts. It’s 2011 and my tooth still hurts. I think I’ll sue the cafeteria that sold me that suspicious lunch wrap. That’ll learn ‘em.

Tooth: Hope I get another root canal… hee-hee.

•••••••••••••••

Dennis Kucinich has apologized for all of the distraction that he’s caused, and has announced within an hour of this writing that he had settled the lawsuit.

For the record, here’s a copy of the lawsuit (PDF) that Kucinich brought against the olive pit (and the company that left it in his sandwich).

A few things you need to know

January 21, 2011 By Eva Watson Leave a Comment

by Eva Watson

I act dumb. Full stop. I’m a grown woman who acts like an immature twit. I’m constantly making fun of everything. When I noticed crunchy, dried-up boogers sticking to the wall next to my three-year-old’s bed, I said, “Syd? Santa thinks that’s disgusting. Now you’re on his disgusting list. Great.” So cruel. I can’t even write maturely. I once wrote an article on

recommendations for thwarting raccoon thievery of my summer garden strawberries; the segment was titled, ‘Raccoon Smasher Garden Patrol’… (snort) See? Tasteless. I can’t help myself. Life gets stupid. But it doesn’t stop there. My adolescent humor even seeps into my care of patients.

A young guy was in my operatory chair. He hadn’t had a professional scaling in four years. I was about to begin his SRP when he said, “I might be a big baby when you get in there.” I laughed and said, “That’s what I tell my OB/Gyn.” Later, when the guy asked to see another hygienist, I said to myself, “I’m so retarded.”

Another patient attempted to describe what sounded like floss threaders. She went on for more than five minutes trying to describe what floss threaders looked like. I finally said, “You mean those furry, tampon-y thingies with the long string attached? Yeah, I have those.” After the patient rolled her eyes and asked to speak with the dentist privately, I thought to myself, “I’m so juvenile. Why do I do that?”

With the influx of dental products out there, I wish there was a device to zap me with low-voltage electrical currents when I misbehave; like a TENS unit but angrier. As soon as I unleash a nasty one—zzzzt! Owie. Everything would be fine after that, but I’d have to explain to patients why my hair has a static electricity boner. I suppose it doesn’t have to be a dental product, per se. It could be manufactured by a urologist for what it’s worth. They could call it The Electrical Nerve Punisher.

I don’t know. Perhaps it’s not a good idea after all.

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