After a more than a month of lock-down, my hair is a mess, and also I'm worried about how I'll get my regular dental cleaning. About a decade ago, I had the same concerns, albeit for different reasons.
Back then, half of my head had been shaved for emergency brain surgery. After several weeks at the rehab hospital, a few people gently teased me about my punk hairdo: bristly crew-cut on the left, and straggly and overgrown on the right. So my sister Cindy arranged for her sweet and talented hairdresser, Brian, to come to Spaulding to neaten up the outside of my head.
I was pleased by the result. Since Cindy was obviously capable of making amazing things happen, I wondered out loud--probably in one or two short and broken sentences--if she could also maybe arrange for my dentist, Dr. Torelli, to come and clean my teeth. In my hospital bed.
Cindy looked at me with a slightly sad smile, and said something like: no, Sweetie, that’s not going to happen.
The stroke had robbed me of many things--such as movement and fluent language--but my ability to reason, in general, seemed to be intact. But I saw by Cindy’s reaction that I asked for something inappropriate, or at least, unrealistic. I was mortified. But why wouldn’t the wonderful Dr. Torelli make a house-call, so to speak, for a dental cleaning at Spaulding, I wondered?
That evening, after Cindy left, I sat in my hospital bed and pondered the situation. I had been a loyal and grateful patient of Dr. Torelli for decades; I was pretty sure that he would care about the state of my teeth.
Suddenly, an image appeared in my mind. I saw an image of Dr. Torelli’s office, with all of the specialized dental equipment: a chair with adjustable height, angle, and light; the electrical cords connecting the sprayer and drill; the small sink with a push-button tap. Then I saw a laughable image of movers installing a dental chair in my room at Spaulding.
Aha, I thought: it must be the special chair! I have to be in a special dental chair to have my teeth cleaned.
A healthy human brain is amazing, but a damaged brain can be capable of surprising things. The fact that I had been hoping to have a dental cleaning in my hospital bed tells me that my logic must have been impaired. But in the end, some of my brain connections were working just well enough to take me to the right conclusion: haircuts and dental cleanings are very different. A dental cleaning out of a normal setting is a lot harder to arrange than a haircut.
After I had returned home from Spaulding and I was more mobile, I had a cleaning and check-up with Dr. Torelli--at his office, in the usual chair. No cavities.
3 hours ago