Oral Hygiene
Posted: January 19th, 2020, 4:50 pm
I was scheduled for a routine dental cleaning back in September, but cancelled it when I was taking those fucking blood thinners following my stroke, a move not recommended to me, but one my physician approved of. When, after a month, the blood thinners were discontinued, I called the dentist back to reschedule. They couldn't get me in on my preferred day and time any sooner than March. I said Fine, Make it so, Engage, whatever, and put it on my calendar.
Some weeks later I got a call from them. It seems that someone had cancelled an appointment for that very afternoon, and if I were interested, I could take their place. I thanked them, but it was too short a notice, maybe next time. They said Sure, we understand, and that was the end of it.
Well, not really. Over the next few weeks I received probably a half-dozen calls informing me of slots opening up, one of which I eventually agreed to, with about two weeks of lead time. If nothing else, I thought, it would at least end the phone calls. Again I was wrong - something had come up, she said, could you come in a few days earlier? Okay, I said, and rescheduled once more. And once more after that, and again, just because we could. (It seems they were shorthanded, and making up the shortfall with temporary help, each with her own work schedule.) This final appointment was for this past Friday. I drove into Keene confident that I'd get my teeth all lemony fresh and be done with medical stuff for a while.
I'd suspected that my x-rays were due to be updated, so I'd asked the cardiologist a few days earlier if that would be a problem for my tracking device. I was assured it would not, and happened to mention this to the hygienist. Her face fell. "Why are you wearing a heart monitor?" she wanted to know. I told her - I'd had a stroke, and the prevailing winds were pushing the medics to the conclusion that it had been precipitated by an attack of atrial fibrillation.
"Oh dear," she said. Oh shit, I thought.
"You see, we have a policy that we can't do any kind of dental procedure on stroke victims for at least six months following an episode," she explained. "We don't want to introduce bacteria into the bloodstream that might induce another event."
The stench of malpractice insurance was heavy in the air. "So... I can't get my teeth cleaned until March?"
She ruefully shook her head. "And we need a letter of approval from your physician."
So I need my doctor's permission to get my goddamned teeth cleaned. And I can't get it done until March anyway - on the date I'd originally rescheduled the visit for, before getting yanked around by all those phone calls.
Jesus on a unicycle. At least they did the x-rays, and gave me a 15% discount on them for my trouble.
I hope things go a little smoother tomorrow, when the vet takes the sutures out of Kane's ear....
.
Some weeks later I got a call from them. It seems that someone had cancelled an appointment for that very afternoon, and if I were interested, I could take their place. I thanked them, but it was too short a notice, maybe next time. They said Sure, we understand, and that was the end of it.
Well, not really. Over the next few weeks I received probably a half-dozen calls informing me of slots opening up, one of which I eventually agreed to, with about two weeks of lead time. If nothing else, I thought, it would at least end the phone calls. Again I was wrong - something had come up, she said, could you come in a few days earlier? Okay, I said, and rescheduled once more. And once more after that, and again, just because we could. (It seems they were shorthanded, and making up the shortfall with temporary help, each with her own work schedule.) This final appointment was for this past Friday. I drove into Keene confident that I'd get my teeth all lemony fresh and be done with medical stuff for a while.
I'd suspected that my x-rays were due to be updated, so I'd asked the cardiologist a few days earlier if that would be a problem for my tracking device. I was assured it would not, and happened to mention this to the hygienist. Her face fell. "Why are you wearing a heart monitor?" she wanted to know. I told her - I'd had a stroke, and the prevailing winds were pushing the medics to the conclusion that it had been precipitated by an attack of atrial fibrillation.
"Oh dear," she said. Oh shit, I thought.
"You see, we have a policy that we can't do any kind of dental procedure on stroke victims for at least six months following an episode," she explained. "We don't want to introduce bacteria into the bloodstream that might induce another event."
The stench of malpractice insurance was heavy in the air. "So... I can't get my teeth cleaned until March?"
She ruefully shook her head. "And we need a letter of approval from your physician."
So I need my doctor's permission to get my goddamned teeth cleaned. And I can't get it done until March anyway - on the date I'd originally rescheduled the visit for, before getting yanked around by all those phone calls.
Jesus on a unicycle. At least they did the x-rays, and gave me a 15% discount on them for my trouble.
I hope things go a little smoother tomorrow, when the vet takes the sutures out of Kane's ear....
.