Month: November 2023

Was the question: “Eh, what’s up, Doc?”?

Ah, hell naw, the answer should never be “malpractice insurance premiums and patient death rates”…

“I finally got me some health insurance, so I’m going for The Trifecta, Doc–are you ready for Phase One?”

My new dentist just stared back at me blankly through his special tooth-pulling glasses that, for some reason, were designed to make him look like a buck-toothed rabbit–“ah, a guy with a sense of humor,” I surmised.

“What’s this ‘Trifecta’ of which you speak, young man?” he sincerely inquired.

I was more than eager to oblige his request, as I was just certain he would find my idea to be genius.

“Well, I’m glad you asked, Doc. See, it’s like this: I figure that us modern humanoids have three extraneous body parts that are more of a liability than an asset…” I intentionally left a pregnant pause hanging for dramatic effect.

“Ok…and to which three body part are you referring?” the Doc bit hard for my bait.

“The obvious ones of course: wisdom teeth, tonsils, and the appendix. What good are any of those doing us, amiright?” I said, again pausing, trying to draw him in to what I was selling.

“Uh, sure, I guess. Where are you going with all this?” the Doc seemed a bit more dull-witted than you would want in somebody who is about to take a set of over-sized pliers to your face.

“So what I’m proposing is that we, as a nation, get out ahead of all these potential unforced errors. Within 2 months of every U.S. citizen’s 18th birthday, I say that we should offer them completely free-of-charge a one-stop chop-shop: a single surgical event in which they get all three removed in one fell swoop. It’s genius, right?” I looked at him expectantly for affirmation of my ----- brilliant outside-the-box idea.

Instead, I got another blank buck-toothed bunny look before he eventually spoke up.

“That may not be such a good idea,” he said. “If those things aren’t causing any particular issues, then one probably shouldn’t be taking those unnecessary risks. And don’t even get me started on doing all three at the same time–the human body isn’t designed to be able to recover from that much trauma all at once.”

“Well, my wisdom teeth are indubitably the source of my occasional halitosis, so minor procedural risks be damned–grab your pliers and get those suckers outta my face! What’s the worst that could happen?” I implored him.

I had had those 4 calcium fortified bungholes in my mouth causing me to have bad breath for the 5 years of my entire adult life, and I couldn’t wait a moment longer to bid them good riddance…

“Just keep your eyes on my bunny nose, and we’ll be all wrapped up before you know it,” the Doc gently reassured me.

I wasn’t so much nervous as I was excited. Nevertheless, he had opened up the clinic just for me on that late Saturday afternoon, so it was borderline creepy having not another soul around, save for my Mother Dearest–my designated driver, if you will–waiting patiently in the lobby. So even though I had no doubt it would be smooth sailing to my newfound fresh breath and slightly-better-spaced toothy smile, I appreciated his calming presence.

After getting me nice and numb, we cruised right on through Tooth One and Tooth Two. On Tooth Three, well, that was a different story.

I was chilling like a villian when Doc gave that final tug to pop ol’ #3 out. Out it popped, indeed–the loud ‘schluuuuuup-POP!’ was immediately followed by the even louder metalic ‘CLACK!’ of his pliers snapping together. Empty, that is.

“OH,” was all the Doc managed to say aloud. But the look on his face said it all.

And by ‘all’, I mean ‘OH SH*T’–so dramatic that including an exclamation mark would do the sentiment a disservice.

“Don’t…move…” he said, clearly trying to not to lose his nerve.

“Why, whaass up, Dawk?” I attempted to quip, but was foiled by facial anesthesia.

“Uhhh…oh…uhhh…this is bad. This is real bad…”

I could see beads of sweat forming in real-time on his brow. I figured I would let him sweat it out a few more seconds. Meanwhile, I was feigning alarm on the outside, but was cool as a cucumber on the inside.

Why? Because I had an ace up my sleeve.

And by ‘ace up my sleeve’, I really mean ‘tooth caught in the back of my throat’.

But what the Doc didn’t know was that–very, very fortunately for his sorry malpractice-insured ass–was that I had reflexively caught my maverick molar with my tongue, and, if I didn’t ----- around too long, I wouldn’t have to worry about finding out what choking to death on my own esophageal blood in a deserted dentist’s office would feel like.

“Ahhhh…” I could hear relief wash over the Doc as he realized that the cat-like reflexes of his patient had saved him from watching another one of us bleed out in his dentist chair.

I could also see the relief wash over his face. And, oh, was it awkward…

If the so-called ‘point of the story’ for the last three weeks was that it is absolutely insane that we don’t have free, universal healthcare in this country, consider this the ‘counterpoint of the story.’ In pursuit of The Trifecta, I was mere microseconds from dying–dying!

And that was just Phase One. Do y’all remember what went down a year later when I got to Phase Two? Please tell me you do. Please tell me I didn’t not suffer through pure hell–replete with a visit from the Grim Reaper himself–to not have my story told. Go ahead, go back and read one of the most popular posts I’ve put out, Touched By An Angel, and its counterpart, My Time To Go, and behold the most amazing and stupid way to die from a tonsillectomy.

You do see what’s happening here, though? You give a ‘genius’ numbnuts like me absolutely free, no-strings-attached health services, and what do we do? We go run off and have completely elective ‘out-patient’ procedures that end up with us in the morgue. Y’all gonna have a smart-people blood-bath on your hands, I tell you what.

Oh, and though it’s beside the point, guess what? I still haven’t got around to Phase Three–the appendectomy–but guess who’s been having occasional discomfort in that exact region? And guess who’s getting the idea in their head they might just want to get a jump on a potential exploding appendix and have that sucker taken out against the advice of medical professionals?

And guess who didn’t learn the lesson from Phases One and Two that he is indubitably ill-fated and is destined to die in the most statistically improbabilistic way during a routine, yet unneeded, medical procedure?

Who has two big toes, and one of them has a tag on it?

…

…

No, Dear Reader, the answer is not ‘this guy!’–you think I would use such a bourgeoisie ‘who has two thumbs’ punchline in such a grave and earnest post? No!

Instead, I implore you to look at the Toe Tag¹Yes, this is very much indeed an unpop-culture reference to the grunge band ol’ Phillip K. Ballz and I were in during our early high school years. of that handsome body on the slab…

Content created on: 11/12 November 2023 (Sat/Sun)