My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Posts Written By L Parker Brown

The Wisdom of Shedding Wisdom Teeth Early in Life

by on ·General, Health

As I see it, if there is any wisdom related to wisdom teeth is to be wise enough to have them pulled while you are young. From what I’ve read most people have impacted or decaying wisdom teeth removed in their teenage years and early twenties. If you have passed those marks, let’s hope that you don’t wait until you reach middle-age or beyond to get those 3rd molars extracted.

Take it from someone who knows. I thought I had all of my wisdom teeth removed decades ago. When low and behold my dentist tells me that I have one remaining and it needs to come out.

“After each exam, you tell me that I have a mouthful of beautiful, perfectly good teeth,” I said to him. “You do,” he replied, “except for that remaining wisdom tooth. It now has a cavity.” “Can’t you just fill it?” I asked anxiously. He responded, “The cavity extends below the gum level. Better to have that tooth pulled now, then for me to fill it and you have more trouble with it later on.” For two months I resisted until I finally relented and said okay, “Let’s do this.”

I’ve been going to the same dental office for nearly 25 years, and Dr. P has been my dentist during all of that time. He and his entire staff are wonderful people, and they all have an excellent bedside manner. If it were up to me, I’d vote theirs the best dental practice in the city. And judging from reviews I’ve read on Google their other patients feel the same way.

Last Friday was D day. The wisdom tooth is coming out. I am as anxious as a woman about to give birth to triplets on a crowded Metro train.

Dr. P doesn’t do extractions. He leaves that to Dr. M. While she and her assistant prepare me for the inevitable, the dentist and I engage in an active conversation about the various types of yoga, an exercise that we both enjoy. After the “prep-talk” (which I know is a distraction to calm my nerves), the actual process begins and lasts less than 10 minutes.

The procedure wasn’t bad because before injecting the general anesthesia Dr. M used a local anesthetic to numb the area of the soon to be removed tooth. I relaxed a bit feeling confident that like Dr. P, Dr. M knew her stuff. When she went to work, I didn’t feel the needle nor the pressure of the extraction. After yanking that baby out, Dr. M stitched the hole.

Since the wisdom teeth are in the rear of the mouth, unless you tell someone, no one but the patient and the dentist would know that you have missing teeth back there. Warning people:  when anyone tells you that the aftermath is worse than the oral surgery, believe them.

Although I have a low threshold for pain, typically, I am not a pill popper, so I mindlessly refused a prescription for a painkiller. “You may need something after the numbness wears off and for the pain in the coming days,” Dr. M warned.  No. Nada. I refused. The pain cannot be worse than recouping the $325 bill for the procedure. Or so I thought.

Let me tell you – when the numbness began to wear off I wanted to scream “Impeachment!” But Dr. M was not the person I had in mind.

The sheet detailing instructions for extraction post-operative care is pretty specific. During the first 24 hours, I faithfully follow the long list of dos and don’ts. Do drink plenty of water. Do not spit or drink through a straw.  And although caffeine was listed along with no alcohol or smoking (I could live without those first two items, because I am not a drinker or a smoker.) but no coffee – now that is a problem. I confess, I brewed a cup of java but made sure to let it cool down to lukewarm before drinking it. No hot foods or liquids also meant that I had to let my chicken soup cool down almost to the temperature it was in the can before consuming it. About 3 hours after the extraction the pain begins to creep in.

Seeking relief, I swallow Ibuprofen. When that doesn’t work, I switch to Extra Strength Tylenol. A double dose soothes the beast for a little while, and when the pain demon rears its ugly head again. I do it again.

My appetite has waned for the past couple of days, but fortunately, for me, some of the foods that I enjoy are on the list of recommended things to eat following a tooth extraction. Applesauce. Ice cream (nothing chunky like Butter Pecan or Rocky Road). Broth-based soups. Jell-O. Smoothies. Mashed potatoes. Yogurt. Instant oatmeal.

It is now day three post-surgery. I awoke this morning feeling like tiny people wearing spiked shoes were tap dancing on my sensitive gum. My head ached. The lower left side of my face throbbed. I rolled over and grabbed my new best friend, Tylenol Extra Strength, from the nightstand. I crawled out of bed like a battle-wounded soldier, ate a banana, drank a protein drink and then popped two Tylenol ES capsules into my mouth. After a short while, whallah! I felt like I could conquer the world. Or if not that, I could achieve something less dramatic like writing a blog post which is long overdue. It’s been nearly seven hours since this morning’s dose of pain-killer, and it feels like the teeth-munchkins are putting on their spiked shoes and getting ready to dance again. But I’m prepared. My best friend is right here with me, besides the keyboard.

While searching for another solution to after-extraction pain, I discovered the following amusing and possibly prognostic quote about wisdom teeth. “It seems like everybody at one point in their life had wisdom teeth but got them pulled out. And later you find out that the teeth weren’t the only wisdom that’s been removed.” Author unknown.

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Resurrecting Memories for Legacy II

by on ·Family, Nostalgia

Curiosity drives some of us to become amateur genealogists because we enjoy learning what we can about our ancestors and distant kinfolk. Other buffs, knowing the importance of family history, simply want to preserve the information for generations to come.

I was blessed to be the first of my maternal grandmother’s 21 grandchildren. Although circumstances, like birth order, sometimes conspire against us, being the first-born grandchild has its advantages. We tend to remember things that our younger siblings and cousins may not remember or may never have known.

The process of writing my second book is awakening memories of distant relatives and my interactions with them.

Rhea Williams was the first cousin to my Grandma Hattie Staton. I recall meeting Cousin Rhea only twice. Both meetings occurred when I was a very young girl, and she was in the winter of her life. I initially met my cousin when mother took me to visit her home on the outskirt of Oak City, North Carolina. She lived in a tiny cabin down the road from grandma’s place. I suspect that mother was preparing me for the visit when she told me before we arrived that Cousin Rhea was a sweet, old lady and she was partially blind.

A frail-looking, slow-moving, woman greeted us at the door and invited us into her dimly lit one-room cabin. Age curved her body, and thinning, white hair framed her pleasant face. I studied that face, curious to see what blind eyes look like. But all that I could determine was that one of her eyes was fully closed as if it were sleeping, and the other eye partially open.

Cousin Rhea appeared to be a kind woman, but when she stretched a scrawny arm toward me to take my hand and said in a whispery voice, “How you doing child?” I nervously backed away from her and attached myself to my mother’s side where I stayed during the duration of our short visit, my face partially concealed behind her skirt.

The last time I remember seeing my cousin was when her grandson, Perch, dropped her off so she could visit with our family at our home in Washington, DC. And I’ll never forget what happened the first night that she was there.

It must have been after midnight. Everyone in the household had gone to bed and were likely asleep when I awakened because I had to pee.

In a sleepy haze, I climb out of bed and walk toward the bathroom where I switch on the light and step the few inches toward the toilet. I am about to turn around and sit when something on top of the tank catches my eye. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. There is a mason jar partially-filled with water. Resting near the bottom of that jar is an eyeball.

For a second as I am standing there, I think I’m dreaming. I stare in wide-eyed disbelief at the lidless eye. The eye stares at me. I stare back at it. Never in my young years had I seen an eyeball that wasn’t attached to someone’s face. I am transfixed by the sight before me until my imagination fools me into thinking that the eye is moving; it is floating to the surface of the water.

Then, suddenly, I am wide awake. Faster than the Road Runner being chased by Wile E. Coyote, I switch off the bathroom light, haul ass back to my bed and throw the covers over my head. Until I fall asleep, I lay there shivering and praying that I won’t wet the bed, because there is no way I was going back in there. Not tonight.

The next morning when mother and I are alone, and Cousin Rhea is still sleeping, I ask her about the eye in the glass in the bathroom. She tells me that Cousin has a glass eye. She further explains that the artificial eye replaces Cousin’s natural eye, and she removes it each night before going to sleep. Although I heard mother’s patient explanation, my young mind refused to comprehend, and I left many questions unasked. Where does someone find a glass eye? Do you buy them at the grocery store? How do you put it in and take it out? Can the glass eye see me?

As an adult, looking back on what then was a chilling experience but is now an amusing memory, I decided to do some research on glass eyes. I was surprised to learn that the first in-socket artificial eyes were made as early as the 15th century. And contrary to what the naive little girl believed, a prosthetic eye (as they are now commonly called) cannot restore vision. It is merely for cosmetic purposes.

Today, the cost of a custom prosthetic eye will run you somewhere between $2000-$8000. If you are lucky, health insurances will cover the cost. Recently, my out-of-curiosity search on eBay found glass eyes selling for as little as $30.

I don’t know the cost of Cousin Rhea’s glass eye. I suppose they were less expensive back then. Nevertheless, according to family oral history, it didn’t cost her a thing because the county welfare department paid for it.

You are probably as curious as I was to know how Cousin Rhea lost her eye. Narratives tend to get convoluted, but I will retell the story as it was told to me.

One day Cousin Rhea was visited by a circuit preacher as they were sometimes called. During the act of blessing her, the preacher poured oil on Cousin’s head. Perhaps, he was attempting to follow the Scripture that reads, “Thou anointest my head with oil.” Some of the oil rolled down Cousin’s forehead into one eye. (I imagine that must have burned like hell.) Not to make light of the issue, but the blessing apparently did not cover the eye that got the oil because it cost Cousin her sight.

I don’t know who, if any, of my cousins or siblings, remembers Cousin Rhea but I certainly do. Like I said, being the first-born grandchild sometimes has advantages.

 

[To see comments on this post click “Responses” below.]

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A Celebration of Life

by on ·Family

small 20180211_085700Written by Velda Holmes

Guest Author

 

Several years ago, I went to the funeral of a co-worker.  There were a few tears shed, but mostly there was laughter, smiles, and heads nodding in agreement with something said that was spot-on. A celebration of a life that had touched many people in a positive way. I left that funeral thinking, “Isn’t this the way it should be? He would’ve wanted it that way.”

The recent passing of a beloved cousin, Akintunde Kenyatta, made me reflect on that funeral.

Akintunde Kenyatta
Akintunde Kenyatta

I believe it was early 2007 or 2008 when Akintunde reached out to my Aunt Mildred. He was searching for the Parkers. (His dad’s side of the family.) Aunt Mildred’s husband, Willie Parker, was one of nine Parker siblings.  Unfortunately, my aunt had to inform Akintunde that her husband had passed away, but his two brothers, Alton and Allen Parker, lived in North Carolina.

Akintunde contacted them, and I happened to be at my Uncle Allen’s home when he visited. As is my nature, I was immediately suspicious. Who is this cat? I wondered. No “Kenyettas” in the family that I know of. Hummpf, this joker is a flimflam man!

He laid out his roots, starting with his father, Chesterfield. At the mention of that name, my uncle perked up. Yes, he knew his dad! Both men smiled and talked for a long while. I knew then; this was “legit” as they say.

From then on, there were phone calls, lots of jokes, Facebook posts, shared family history, and pictures. Akintunde was passionate about family. In turn, we became passionate about him. He brought fun and joy wherever he went. He came to every annual Parker family reunion he could. The most recent one took place in October 2017, at Virginia Beach. It was special because we were not sure if he would attend because by now he was putting up a good fight with his illness. A fight, we were all sure if anyone could beat, it would be him. We were in the fight with him, too. Praying, sending flowers, sending cards, blowing up his Facebook page. “That’s right,” we all said constantly. “God is still in control.”

In spite of ill health, he came to the reunion. He was visibly frail and weak, but still flashing that sunshine smile. His attendance was special because he met another cousin who he had met only once before, Loretta Brown, who, as it turns out, had not been to a reunion herself in several years. Thanks to modern technology we all shared antidotes, pictures, and ideas via Facebook, so meeting in person was an added treat.

Sadly, 72-year-old Akintunde passed away a few days ago. We will miss him terribly. We search for favorite photos of him, little drawings he made (he liked to draw) and other memorable items. There is so much that we can say about him, like how much he loved his wife, Kim. He was a BIG Baltimore Ravens fan. All of the family is still in awe of the feat he performed about three years ago. He went skydiving.

He was a musician, an awesome brother, a super proud father, grandfather, a great friend, and a loving human being. He has taken his place now among the elders. I believe that many of our family members reading this will be nodding their heads in agreement, and smiling and laughing in celebration of his life.  He would want it that way.

Alton, Akintunde and Allen
Alton, Akintunde, and Allen

*** To see comments about this post, click the word “Responses” beneath the line. Also, click on the picture of Alton, Akintunde, and Allen to see additional comments.

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Sticking a Foot Out for a Good Night’s Sleep

by on ·General

FootHaving trouble sleeping because you are too hot? Did you know that removing a foot from underneath the covers will cool your body? I’m not pulling your leg.

Some of us follow the National Sleep Foundation’s suggestion and keep our bedroom temperature between 60 and 67 degrees Fahrenheit to ensure a good night’s sleep. Still, sleeping beneath a comforter or even a top sheet can make you feel warm, and let me interject – especially on a memory foam mattress. Add to that the body heat generated by the significant other snoring beside you and the bed could feel like a sauna. What can you do then to cool off so you can go to dreamland? Stick a foot out.

Studies have shown that keeping one foot or even a leg out from beneath the covers cools the body and creates a comfortable sleeping condition. Imagine that your foot is a thermostat that helps regulate your body temperature. Both feet beneath the covers keeps the body warm. Take one foot or both feet from under the cover, and the body cools down.

There is a scientific reason why that simple action regulates your body temperature. Experts say that our feet contain specialized vascular structures known as arteriovenous anastomoses, coupled with the lack of hair on the bottoms of our feet those structures are designed to help dissipate body heat.

Okay, I can picture some of you now starting to roll your eyes up toward the ceiling, so I’ve installed a video produced by The Science of US Sleeping Institute that will simplify the subject for you. Watch it and have a good night.

 

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The Wait: A Customer Service Hold-Time Horror Story

by on ·General, Lifestyle and Culture, Opinion, Technology

Customer ServiceThe other day, I called the Social Security office to ask one simple question. When could I expect to receive my 1099 form? After several rings, my call was answered by an interactive voice response system (IVR), commonly referred to by us laypeople as a recorded message. As soon as I heard it, I knew that getting a simple answer to a simple question might take a little time. But I had no idea that I would become a casualty of phone system hell. This is my record of the call.

IVR: Your wait period is approximately 50 minutes.

Me:  FIFTY MINUTES! I shouted in my mind. Are you kidding me? Thinking that perhaps I had misheard – surely the robot said 15 minutes, not 50 – I decided to wait. I looked at the clock. It was 8:55 a.m.

Holding the phone with my left hand, I leaned back in my chair, grabbed the TV remote with the free hand and began channel surfing.

After a few minutes, I started paying closer attention to the messages.

9:09 – IVR:  Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we can.

When my clock displayed 9:10, I put the phone on speaker, set it on my desk, began filing my nails and reminiscing about the days when customer service meant person-to-person, not person-to-machine. Usually, after the second ring, the third at most, a real person would answer the phone, especially in government offices. You remember those days, don’t you?

It’s frustrating enough to be put on hold for an extended period, but when an IVR holds you hostage, you feel helpless. You don’t dare hang up and call back because you will just have to repeat the process.

It used to be that a caller could press zero to bypass the gibberish and be immediately connected to a live person. But businesses got wise to that and eliminated the feature, leaving callers no choice but to hold, and wait, and hold, and wait.

Some companies will place callers in a phone queue, sort of a virtual waiting room, offering them the option of remaining on the phone while they wait for an answer or receiving a callback. The Social Security system did not give me that option. And so I waited.

In the interim, I entertained myself by playing Words with Friends. I checked my Facebook page. I even perused my emails. Finally, I began recording the messages that rotated every 60 seconds.

9:15 – IVR:  Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we possibly can.

ME:  We’ll see. Holding the phone with one hand, I impatiently began tapping my fingers on the desk with the other.

9:16 – IVR:  We apologize for this delay if you are calling for general information. If you are applying for retirement, disability or spousal benefits, you may want to visit us at www.social security.gov.

ME:  Idiots! If you answer the phone, I would tell you that I cannot log on to the www.stupidsite. If I could do you think I’d be wasting my time calling you?

9:17 – IVR:  We regret that you have waited so long.

ME:  The hell you do.

IVR:  We are doing our best to answer your call. Social Security provides benefits to more than 50 million. We are taking calls in the order in which they came.

ME:  You said that already. Uh huh. Sure. I was determined to out-wait them.

9:18 – IVR:  Thank you for holding.

ME:  Oh, good. They’re finally going to answer.

IVR:  We appreciate your patience.

ME:  What!

IVR:  We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we possibly can.

ME:  You’ve got to be kidding me.

9:19 – IVR:  At the conclusion of your call we would like you to participate in a short survey and tell us about your experience.

ME:  Oh, yes. Don’t I want to do that!

IVR:  If you would like to participate in the survey, please stay on the line after the agent hangs up.

For the first time following the previous messages, I hear four fast beeps. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. That’s different, I think. Surely, a sign that someone is about to answer my call. I wait anxiously while watching the numbers on my digital clock flip over.

9:20 – IVR:  Thank you for waiting. Someone will assist you shortly. Please have handy your Social Security number and any recent mail we have sent you. Having this information will help us to serve you better.

ME:  Here we go. Finally!

9:21 – IVR:  We apologize for this delay if you are calling for general information. If you are applying for retirement, disability or spousal benefits, you may want to visit us at  www.socialsecurity.gov.

ME:  Are you kidding me?

9:22 – IVR:  We regret that you have waited so long. We are doing our best to answer your call. Social Security provides benefits to 50 million. We are taking calls in the order in which they came.

ME:  Sitting in stunned silence and disbelief that I’ve been holding on the line for nearly 30 minutes. A first. And – a last.

9:23 – IVR:  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. (Then, there is a pause.)

ME:  What’s with the beeps? No message following? I know someone is going to pick-up now.  I’m preparing to stand up and do a happy dance. When I hear…

IVR:  Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we can.

ME:  Wearing a zombie-like expression.

9:24 – IVR:  At the conclusion of your call we would like you to participate in a short survey and tell us about your experience. If you would like to participate in the survey, please stay on the line after the agent hangs up.

ME:  Oooh, Buddy. You DO NOT want me to take the survey. Not now.

9:25 – IVR:  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Thank you for waiting. Someone will assist you shortly. Please have handy your Social Security number and any recent mail we may have sent you. Having this information will help us to serve you better.

ME:   Now talking to the IVR. How many times are you all going to replay these */%#  messages? As much as I hate on-hold music, I’ll opt for that now.

9:26 – IVR:  Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we can.

 Those same messages recycled repeatedly until at 9:55, just as I was about to hang up, a real live human came on the line.

Human:  May I help you?

Me:    I took a deep breath and did not fly off the handle because I knew he might be expecting that and I didn’t want him to hang up on me. So, I said calmly said through gritted teeth, “I’m calling to inquire about my 1099 form.”

I had barely finished the sentence before Human in a robotic tone said, “The 1099 forms are being mailed from headquarters throughout the month of January. You should receive your 1099 before the end of the month. Is there anything else I can help with?”

Thank you. No. Click!

Had I not recorded the times and IVR messages, I would not have believed that I had held the phone for an hour for a conversation that lasted about 45 seconds. My first and last time doing a phone marathon.

At least the SS IVR does not add insult to the injury of phone hang-over customers by including “Your call is important to us.”

And no, I did not take the survey.

 

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