More Exciting Details

Jo(e) claims she is dying to hear about my visit to the periodontist, but I have a feeling she is pulling my leg. Besides, it's all about pain, and I don't want to revisit it. The only good part is when, after the hygienist has finished torturing me, the periodontist himself comes in to kibbitz with me. The periodontist has an exuberant and outgoing personality. He is one of the great characters in my life, and the force of his personality is undoubtedly why I keep coming back for more torture. He is about my age, and has a great enthusiasm for jazz, food, travel (which, when he happens to be the one cleaning my teeth, he regales me with stories about, stopping occasionally to ask me a question--have you ever seen Abbey Lincoln live?--which I can't answer, since there are instruments in my mouth). He makes up nicknames for me, which happen to be the same nicknames my high school friends used to use. He is warm, and I like that. On Tuesday, he came in to survey the, uh, oral situation after the hygienist was done. He saw some scary areas, but then he said, "Your strong point is that you keep coming back to the office for treatment. If you hadn't been coming in all these years, we would have lost four or five teeth by now."

Which I strongly doubt. But undoubtedly it's better for me to come in than not, so I'll take the pat on the back and keep coming back.

Today, I saw yet another doctor, the hand surgeon who treated my injured left pinky two years ago. I showed him my latest volleyball injury, the two fingers on my right hand that got hit a couple of months ago and slammed backward, and that are still stiff and painful. He said they looked like they were getting better by themselves, and that they would be okay. I said, "That's what I thought, but I wanted to hear you say so."

He also explained why, when you go back out to play or whatever and the injury has not fully healed, you are likely to injure it again. Something about how your brain can't get the message to your hand fast enough to get out of the way. I'm not sure I understood why, though. I had this experience when I saw him the last time, too--he was giving me scientific chitchat and I just couldn't take it in. But I understood, both times, that it was his way of being reassuring.

I also made another exciting stop on the way home, to get my glasses adjusted, but I really will spare you that story. It did have some poignant moments, though.

Tomorrow I am going away for a few days, to another state (a warm state!), to visit my close friend from high school and her family. I am excited to see my friend, because it's been a long time, and I am also excited to be on vacation, starting . . . . now!