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contabilidadeinternacional · 3 months

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Where Can You Find Dallas Cosmetic Dentists?

When it comes to enhancing your smile and improving your dental aesthetics, seeking the expertise of a qualified cosmetic dentist is crucial. Dallas, being a vibrant city, offers a plethora of options for individuals seeking cosmetic dental services. From teeth whitening to smile makeovers, Dallas cosmetic dentists cater to various needs and preferences. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore where you can find reputable cosmetic dentists in Dallas and how to choose the right one for your needs, including locating an emergency dentist open on Saturdays.

Importance of Dental Health

Before delving into the specifics of cosmetic dentistry, it's essential to understand the significance of dental health. Beyond aesthetics, maintaining good oral hygiene is paramount for overall health and well-being. Regular dental check-ups and cleanings not only prevent dental issues but also contribute to your overall health. If you ever find yourself in need of urgent dental care, trust DentUrgent - Emergency Dental Care to provide prompt and professional assistance.

Understanding Cosmetic Dentistry

Cosmetic dentistry focuses on improving the appearance of teeth, gums, and bite. It encompasses a wide range of dental procedures aimed at enhancing the aesthetics of your smile. From minor adjustments to major transformations, cosmetic dentistry can address various concerns, including stained teeth, misaligned teeth, gaps, and missing teeth.

Benefits of Cosmetic Dentistry

The benefits of cosmetic dentistry extend beyond aesthetics. A confident smile can significantly boost self-esteem and improve social interactions. Additionally, certain cosmetic procedures can enhance oral functionality and prevent future dental problems.

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Cosmetic Dentist

When selecting a cosmetic dentist, several factors should be taken into account to ensure you receive the best possible care:

Qualifications and Credentials

Look for a dentist who is board-certified and has undergone specialized training in cosmetic dentistry.

Experience and Expertise

Choose a dentist with extensive experience in performing cosmetic procedures and a track record of successful outcomes.

Services Offered

Consider the range of services offered by the dentist, ensuring they align with your specific needs and goals.

Technology and Techniques

Opt for a dentist who utilizes advanced technology and techniques to deliver optimal results with minimal discomfort.

Where to Find Dallas Cosmetic Dentists

Finding a reputable cosmetic dentist in Dallas is easier than ever, thanks to various resources available:

Online Directories

Online directories such as Yelp, Healthgrades, and Zocdoc provide comprehensive listings of cosmetic dentists in Dallas, along with patient reviews and ratings.

Referrals from Friends and Family

Seek recommendations from friends, family members, or colleagues who have undergone cosmetic dental procedures in Dallas. Personal referrals can offer valuable insights into the dentist's professionalism and quality of care.

Social Media Platforms

Many cosmetic dentists in Dallas maintain a strong presence on social media platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. Browsing through their social media profiles can give you a glimpse of their work and patient testimonials.

Dental Associations

Consult local dental associations such as the Texas Dental Association or the Dallas County Dental Society for a list of accredited cosmetic dentists in the area.

Google Search

A simple Google search using keywords like "Dallas cosmetic dentists" or "best cosmetic dentists in Dallas" can yield a wealth of information, including practice websites, patient reviews, and contact details.

Tips for Finding the Right Cosmetic Dentist

When researching potential cosmetic dentists, consider the following tips to make an informed decision:

Schedule consultations with multiple dentists to discuss your concerns and treatment options.

Ask about the dentist's experience, credentials, and portfolio of work.

Inquire about the technology and techniques used in the practice.

Request before-and-after photos of previous patients to gauge the dentist's skill and expertise.

Questions to Ask During the Consultation

During your initial consultation, don't hesitate to ask the following questions to ensure you're comfortable with the dentist and the proposed treatment plan:

What are the benefits and risks associated with the recommended procedure?

What is the expected timeline for treatment, and how many visits will be required?

Can you provide a cost estimate, including any additional fees or expenses?

Do you offer financing options or accept dental insurance?

What post-operative care instructions should I follow, and what are the expected recovery times?

Cost of Cosmetic Dentistry

The cost of cosmetic dental procedures in Dallas varies depending on the complexity of the treatment, the dentist's experience, and the location of the practice. While cosmetic dentistry may be perceived as costly, many dentists offer financing options to make treatment more affordable.

Insurance Coverage

While most cosmetic dental procedures are considered elective and may not be covered by insurance, certain treatments deemed medically necessary may be partially covered. It's essential to check with your insurance provider to understand your coverage and potential out-of-pocket expenses.

Importance of Reviews and Testimonials

Before making a final decision, take the time to read reviews and testimonials from past patients. Feedback from others can provide valuable insights into the dentist's professionalism, bedside manner, and quality of care.

Common Cosmetic Dental Procedures

Dallas cosmetic dentists offer a wide range of procedures to address various dental concerns, including:

Teeth whitening

Dental veneers

Dental bonding

Invisalign

Dental implants

Gum contouring

Importance of Follow-up Care

After undergoing a cosmetic dental procedure, it's essential to follow your dentist's post-operative care instructions diligently. Regular follow-up appointments will ensure that your results are maintained and any potential issues are addressed promptly.

Conclusion

In conclusion, finding a reputable cosmetic dentist in Dallas requires thorough research and consideration of various factors. By utilizing online resources, seeking referrals, and asking the right questions during consultations, you can find a skilled dentist who can help you achieve the smile of your dreams.

FAQs

How do I know if cosmetic dentistry is right for me?

Cosmetic dentistry may be suitable for individuals looking to improve the appearance of their smile or address specific dental concerns. Schedule a consultation with a cosmetic dentist to discuss your goals and treatment options.

Is cosmetic dentistry covered by insurance?

While most cosmetic procedures are considered elective and may not be covered by insurance, certain treatments deemed medically necessary may be partially covered. It's essential to check with your insurance provider for coverage details.

Are there financing options available for cosmetic dental procedures?

Many cosmetic dentists offer financing options to help make treatment more affordable for patients. Be sure to inquire about available payment plans during your consultation.

How long do cosmetic dental procedures typically take?

The duration of a cosmetic dental procedure varies depending on the complexity of the treatment. Some procedures, such as teeth whitening, can be completed in a single visit, while others may require multiple appointments.

What should I expect during the recovery process after a cosmetic dental procedure?

The recovery process after a cosmetic dental procedure depends on the type of treatment performed. Your dentist will provide detailed post-operative care instructions and schedule follow-up appointments to monitor your progress.

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laresearchette · 5 months

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Saturday, January 27, 2024 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: LIL NAS X: LONG LIVE MONTERO (HBO Canada) 8:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT? LOVE & MARRIAGE: DC (TBD - OWN Canada)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

CRAVE TV ALVIN! AND THE CHIPMUNKS (Season 5)

NETFLIX CANADA DOCTOR SLUMP (KR)

2024 AUSTRALIAN OPEN TENNIS (TSN/TSN3/TSN4/TSN5) 3:30am: Women’s Final (TSN/TSN3/TSN4/TSN5) 5:30pm: Men’s Doubles Final (TSN/TSN5) 11:00pm: Women’s Doubles Final

NHL HOCKEY (SN) 12:30pm: Bruins vs. Flyers (SN) 4:00pm: Predators vs. Oilers (CBC/City TV) 7:00pm: Habs vs. Penguins (SN1) 7:00pm: Rangers vs. Sens (SN) 7:00pm: Leafs vs. Jets (CBC/SN) 10:00pm: Chicago vs. Flames (SN1/SNPacific) 10:00pm: Blue Jackets vs. Canucks

NBA BASKETBALL (TSN4) 3:00pm: Heat vs. Knicks (TSN4) 5:30pm: 76ers vs. Nuggets (SN Now) 7:00pm: Clippers vs. Celtics (TSN3/TSN4/TSN5) 8:30pm: Lakers vs. Warriors

PWHL HOCKEY (SN1) 4:00pm: Minnesota vs. Boston

W5 (CTV) 7:00pm: Celine's Silence: Investigating the rare disorder that threatens the career of Celine Dion.

POLARIS (Crave) 7:25pm: In the frozen world of post-apocalyptic 2144, a young warrior raised by a polar bear must fight to survive after she escapes captivity from brutal hunters.

NEVER TOO LATE TO CELEBRATE (CTV) 8:00pm: A career-focused dentist is reluctant to celebrate her 30th birthday but soon finds inspiration from a Spanish teacher. They soon plan a quinceañera-themed party to honor her Hispanic heritage.

ROMANCE WITH A TWIST (W Network) 8:00pm: Former dancer Luna pairs up with Bennett, a world-class aerialist, when he finds himself without a partner for his upcoming performance at the local arts festival.

A NURSE TO DIE FOR (Lifetime Canada) 8:00pm: A man hires a live-in nurse to help care for his sick daughter. However, as she continues to suffer a series of setbacks, he starts to wonder if the nurse might actually be the one keeping her sick.

SWING INTO ROMANCE (Super Channel Heart & Home) 8:00pm: A dancer pairs with an unlikely partner, entering a contest to save her family's general store.

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER (Super Channel Fuse) 8:00pm: Two Americans, one an aspiring poet and the other an established folk musician, cross paths in the scenic, coastal town of Taormina, Sicily. Their instant chemistry sparks collaboration, leading to an unexpected romance in the beautiful countryside.

HOUSE OF GUCCI (Crave) 9:00pm: When Patrizia Reggiani, an outsider from humble beginnings, marries into the Gucci family, her unbridled ambition begins to unravel the family legacy and triggers a reckless spiral of betrayal, decadence, revenge -- and ultimately murder.

SECRETS IN THE ICE (Cottage Life) 10:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): Experts make a chilling new discovery when they unearth a 30,000-year-old zombie virus from an icy grave; if this ancient disease is successfully resuscitated back to life, it could cause a catastrophic global calamity.

TAG (CTV) 12:35am: Five highly competitive friends hit the ground running for their yearly, no-holds-barred game of tag -- risking their necks, their jobs and their relationships to take one another down.

#cdntv #canadian tv #cancon #canadian tv listings #W5 #tennis #nhl hockey #nba basketball #pwhl hockey

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pgoeltz · 11 months

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STEVE SILBERMAN

THE ONLY SONG OF GOD

This morning, I walked past the Henry J. Kaiser Auditorium in Oakland for the first time since Jerry Garcia's death.

From 1979 to 1989, the Grateful Dead held forth there 56 times, and I probably saw 40 of those shows.

I had never seen the grass in front of the arena deserted before, with no Deadheads kibitzing on blankets or waiting in line at booths, no wet dogs in bandanas snapping Frisbees out of the air and galloping down to lap from the muddy creek.

Instead of the high archways carved with scenes from Romantic mythology, I remembered milling craziness spilling into the street, and the lines winding around back where the limos came in, growing thicker at the doors near show time as Willie in his blue security suit kept everyone honest by preaching the gospel of soul through a megaphone.

I knocked on the front door and a custodian let me in for a few minutes to look around. I walked through the tiled lobby into the main arena, barely longer than it is wide, the light tan planks on the floor marked with black tape, an antique scoreboard dangling from the ceiling.

From the bleachers to the back wall, I counted only 11 rows of wooden flip-up seats. I was so happy to be in that room again.

In the 1950s, gospel groups like the Swan Silvertones, the Mighty Clouds of Joy, the Soul Stirrers, and the James Cleveland Choir used to sing in that room. Smartly dressed ushers walked the aisles wearing white gloves, so that someone who got the spirit in the middle of a number - who might stand up in their Sunday finest, testifying in tongues, and faint dead over - could be carried out into the lobby, fanned back to consciousness, and ushered back in.

In the 1980s - the golden years of my life as a Deadhead - I used to think of Kaiser as the living room of the tribe.

The Dead's annual open-air jubilees, in drenching sun, at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley and at the Frost Amphitheatre at Stanford, were more spectacular. But Kaiser - with its midweek shows, and spiral corridors for schmoozing between epiphanies - was for locals. You didn't have to buy a plane ticket or hitchhike a thousand miles to see the band, and many of the people there, you'd know: your neighbors, your dentist, the other Deadhead from your office. For days afterward, you'd recognize faces that you'd seen in the big room, and smile to each other as you passed in the street.

If you weren't from the Bay Area, after three or four shows at Kaiser, eventually, you'd move here. Kaiser was for lifers. It felt like home.

At shows in those years, up at the front on "the rail" where you could observe the musicians at work, the crowds could get so dense on a Saturday night that you would lose your footing. But if you relaxed, you could nearly float, like a cell in a bath of nutrient, the rhythms coming to you as a gentle push in one direction, then another.

If you left your backpack under the bleachers before the lights went out, it would still be there when the applause ended. When the lights came up again, you might see a couple in the middle of the floor who had just made love in the swirling dark, laughing, exhausted, fixing each other's hair.

It was one of the safest places in the world.

I was a suburban kid, the son of agnostic parents who believed in a healing of the world by political, rather than spiritual, means. Still, wherever I looked, the universe seemed animate and mysterious.

The Martian Chronicles, the Science Fiction Hall of Fame, and The Outer Limits widened the horizons of my everyday life to include the infinite. In the sixth grade, I found a copy of Richard Hittleman's 21-Day Yoga Plan in the library, lit a candle, and gazed earnestly into the flame.

I remember one afternoon when I was in high school, sitting on my best friend's bed, listening to Europe '72 . The music I liked up to that point was vocal music, like the folk tunes my mother sang to me before I was able to speak; songs that told stories, like Stephen Stills' alliterative cowboy confessing his love in "Helplessly Hoping."

After the last verse of "China Cat Sunflower," Weir took a lead over Kreutzmann's breathing, elastic time, with Godchaux's piano cascading down like droplets of silver. But it was Garcia - even out of the spotlight - who added incisive punctuations that stitched the music into a tale unfolding, and I suddenly had the sensation of riding on a locomotive, surging forward on the track.

As I grew older, the music of the Dead - especially the restless, exploratory jams that were Garcia's trademark - often provided the soundtrack for my introspection.

While the rest of the world was asleep or watching television, I'd shut my door and put on headphones, and hear seemingly ancient voices broadcast their truths, listen to each other, and respond; delighted to be part of an intimate conversation beyond what could be said in words - like eavesdropping on God's thoughts.

After I started going to see the band in places like Roosevelt Stadium and the Capitol Theatre, I learned that at Dead shows, you could allow the music to go as deeply inside you as it did when you were alone; and you could do it with those who understood, in their own way, how the music felt to you.

Sometimes I liked to turn away from the stage, so I could see how others received it. Some would listen with their eyes shut, swaying; others would gaze toward the men onstage as you would toward your oldest friend - who was about to attempt something marvelous and difficult - with a blessing look.

If Deadheads were a tribe that sought collective experience, we were also an aggregation of loners who had learned how not to bruise each other's solitude: that place where our souls, and the music, communed.

If you were tripping, the music would pour forth celestial architectures, quicksilver glistening with might-be's, cities of light at the edge of a sea of chaos, monumental forms that could be partially recollected in tranquility, and turned into designs in fabric or clay, golden sentences, streams of bits.

And some nights, the hair on the back of your neck would stand on end as a presence came into the room, given a body by the magnificent sound system. In the hallways, the Dead's own dervishes, the Spinners, would bow toward the stage, their long hair brushing the floor. Dancers raised one another up like kids in punk clubs, laughing like babies in their father's arms, or weeping.

Startled out of my reflection by some grace note of primordial majesty, I'd look up and see his fingers -

That furrow of deliberation where all else was left to drift, in the secret place where everything was waiting to be born.

Four days after Garcia's death, my friend Raymond Foye and I picked up a young man hitchhiking by the roadside near Raymond's house in Woodstock. The perfume of sweet alcohol filled the car as he climbed in. We asked him where he was going and he said, "To the monastery at the top of the mountain."

We wound up the road to an enormous gate, painted red, and carved with lions.

The monks knew our passenger. "You back for good this time?" one asked.

When the young man offered to guide us to the shrine room, we eagerly accepted. The rooms and hallways leading there had the orderliness of sacred space. There was a rack for shoes, so you'd enter the room barefoot.

Along the walls, bodhisattvas glowed in the shadows. I walked slowly, with my hands clasped over my heart, as my old Zen teacher had taught me. With each step, I felt the cool floor against the soles of my feet.

I turned toward the front of the room. There in the dim light, an enormous Buddha, painted gold, sat in the erect, relaxed posture of contemplative alertness, like a mountain in a dream.

I walked up and made a full prostration, my forehead touching the floor, my palms upraised.

On the altar, there was an oil lamp lit, with a white card beside it. It read:

FOR JERRY GARCIA

MAY HE HAVE AN AUSPICIOUS REBIRTH

Sometimes it seems we have little greatness left to us to praise. Our leaders are liar or comedians, and our priests, like teenagers, have a hard time interpreting their own desires, much less the Passion of Christ.

Yet I'm confident that the Grateful Dead were truly great, by which I mean, were able to abide some portion of mystery, and allow it to come through them without naming it or taking too much pride in it, or appropriating its surface aspects as a pose or strategy.

Look at the shaman, standing in his once-living robe, holding up a drum, blazed on the walls of caves all over the Earth. The rock and roll fop, pursing his lips under the pastel lights, is a bare flicker over this image, graven in the back of our minds as surely as if it had been carved in the skull-cup of bone by a hand.

The image says: Drums are doors or vehicles, voices bear messages to the threshold of Heaven, and sliding or flatted notes are blue highways between this world and the other.

I once asked Garcia how it came to be that a young bluegrass banjo and guitar player with a taste for the blues and R&B had found, in the company of kindred spirits, a road back to the collective experience of music as mystery.

We didn't plan it out that way, he said, it just happened, like an escalator appearing in front of our eyes. We had a choice at the beginning, to get on, or not.

That was all.

I remember standing on a train platform after a show, when I heard a freight pass heavy on the rails, the couplings and wheels clattering with a lurching, quirky grandeur that was familiar.

Then I remembered: it was the rhythm of "Ramble on Rose."

For all I know, Garcia might have had the ghost of another tune in mind when he wrote it, or pulled it out of the air - but it was the American air, of boxcars passing (with Jack Kerouac's little St. Theresa hobo shivering inside) through towns with names like Gaviota, Las Cruces and Wichita.

No pomp and circumstance for us Yankees, but hard luck and a little grace - our own raw melodies sent up with the drafts of a campfire - rippling the moon in the corner of a fiddler's eye.

One night at Kaiser, after a delicate, shimmering jam that threaded out of "Estimated Prophet," Willie Green of the Neville Brothers joined the drummers onstage.

Mickey Hart moved from the traps to the berimbau to the Beam, an instrument he helped invent: a ten-foot aluminum girder strung with piano wire tuned to extremely low pitches, designed to launch huge standing waves into very large rooms, to shiver bones and make the walls of a coliseum tremble.

As the drummers faced one another, the tidal resonances of the Beam rippled through the floorboards, ebbing in a series of descending pitches that sounded then, to me, like the root of all music.

I felt my knees weaken under me. My palms came together as if of their own volition, and I dropped to the floor.

I didn't need to know or name what called me to make that full prostration. I only needed a place to do it that was safe, a place where I felt at liberty, so that inner life and outer life could come together.

The root of the verb "to heal" means "to make whole."

That's why the Grateful Dead were medicine men: the music, and the collective energy of Deadheads, together, helped heal the sickness of existence. To those blinded by habit was conveyed sight, and the lame were made - a little less lame.

In Tibet, the medicine that healed the sickness of existence was called amrita, "the strongest poison and medicine of all."

A black muddy river of amrita flowed through Grateful Dead land.

Though from the outside, Garcia had an enviable life, he - like all of us - had to learn to make himself at home among many contradictions. (He once said, "I live in a world without a Grateful Dead.")

An intensely humble and private man, his art earned him the kind of fame that plastered his face on bumper stickers. Branded for the duration of his career in the media by the decade in which he came of age, he sometimes seemed most at home picking the tunes of Bill Monroe, Doc Watson, and Clarence Ashley played for decades before anyone had heard of the Haight-Ashbury. For someone whose craft helped so many people rediscover the pleasures of having a body, Garcia seemed to only grudgingly acknowledge his own.

And while Deadheads tapped a seemingly inexhaustible wellspring of good news in his music, Garcia himself had endured several of life's great tragedies, including witnessing the death of his father by drowning, and the loss of a finger. (The luminous tracks on American Beauty were recorded during a period of daily trips with his brother Tiff to San Francisco General, to visit their mother, Ruth, who had sustained injuries in a car accident that turned out to be fatal.)

A witty and engaging conversationalist, of cosmopolitan interests and encyclopedic reference, Garcia must have realized that his social contacts were becoming increasingly circumscribed by his heroin habit, which he once referred to as a "buffer."

Garcia had made of his instrument a means for direct expression of his soul. In the last year of his life - as his buffer became an adversary to his art, his nimbleness became a thing lost, and the lyrics no longer arrived - the pain was audible in his music.

Last spring, when I asked a mutual friend how the sessions for the new album were going, he said that Jerry was uncommunicative, unkempt, and not playing well. I asked him if Garcia's behavior had any emotional coloration.

"Yeah," he said - "Do Not Disturb."

For the last year, I'd been reassuring panicky young Deadheads online that the rumors were suddenly everywhere - that the Summer Tour would be the Dead's last - were untrue.

The venues for '96, I'd been told, had already been booked.

But the mind at large knew better. The universe that set Garcia up as a medicine man in an age thirsting for mystery would not let him exit without the thunderclaps, lighting and palls of doom that Shakespeare brought down on the heads of a tattered kings and his clown.

At four in the morning on August 9th , Maureen Hunter stirred sleepless beside her husband, Robert. Garcia had telephoned the Hunters a day or so earlier, to thank Robert for all the songs they'd written together, and also to say, with unusual explicitness, that he loved him.

Maureen got up and walked into the kitchen where a breeze was blowing through an open window. She bolted the window, looked in on her daughter, and returned to bed.

A few miles away, a staffer at Serenity Knolls paused outside Garcia's room, not hearing the snoring she'd heard earlier. He entered the room, and found Garcia in bed, his heart stopped, smiling.

Part of the joy in being a Deadhead was in wedding yourself to a story that was longer than your life.

When I was writing my essay "Who Was Cowboy Neal?" I began to think of the surging improvised section of "Cassidy" as a place where Neal Cassady's spirit was invited to visit the living. Like Garcia, Neal had been a hero to many, but to himself, a man - fighting a man's struggles beside the titans whose footsteps echoed in those jams that I never wanted to end.

When the chords said look within, we trusted Garcia to ride point for us, to be the headlight on the northbound train, behind which we were grateful to follow. Each of his discoveries was greeted with recognition. He'd taken us someplace new again, but a place we felt we were fated to go, because Jack's words in On the Road - about burning "like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars" - had spoken directly to us, the lucky ones; the ones who found the stone, the old stone in the American wilderness that marks the way.

And when we arrived in that place we were born to seek, all our brothers and sisters were there.

Of course.

So now, the story is over.

As prophesied, Soon you will not hear his voice.

But it is not so.

There's an old Zen tale of two patch-robed monks, students of the same master, who meet, years after his death, on a footbridge over a foaming river.

Seeing one another again, the two old friends laugh aloud.

"Do you miss our old teacher?" asks the one.

"No, now I see him everywhere," answers the other.

For it was our love that wedded us to the ancient story, our love the music called to in the words of a poet, Scheherazade's tale of the Many Thousand Nights that included us, in which real moonlight fell on imaginary waters.

The same moon that Neal Cassady saw in the mountains above Denver, shining over the city of the dead.

The last time the Dead played at Cal Expo - a small outdoor venue outside Sacramento, like Kaiser with no roof - I used a backstage pass and a drop of liquid to peer behind the spectacle, wandering around the picnic tables like a stoned kid at one of my parents' parties.

It was hot and still, but I knew that at the end of the path that runs behind the stage, there was a swimming pool, where you could still hear the music perfectly.

There was no one else there. I stripped, lowered myself into the water, and looked up at the stars, my mind roaming in the constellations as I floated on the music.

Onstage, Garcia had come home to that little place that he and Hunter made, that he loved so much, "Stella Blue." How slowly the world seemed to turn around us in the night as he played it, night after night.

When he came to the line, "I've stayed in every blue-light cheap hotel, can't win for tryin'," I took a breath and plunged, down into the silence, the drifting where I once heard my mother's heart beat.

And back up, breaking the surface just as the moon and stars shone through the strings of a broken angel's guitar.

Friend, when I meet you on the bridge in 10,000 years, please remind me that our teacher's voice is in the wash of muddy river water over the ancient stones, and in the dancing light at the edge, where a fiddler calls the tune and we rejoin the great circle.

For the universe is full of secrets that gradually reveal themselves, but there is not enough time. Barely time for a song to praise this place where we found each other, and pass back into the "transitive nightfall of diamonds," the beautiful melodies and suffering in the meat yearning for transformation - the only song of God.

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leichhardt-dentist · 1 year

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Top Rated Dentist in Haberfield - Leichhardt Dentist

ABOUT Leichhardt Dentist

Welcome to Leichhardt Dental Centre. We are conveniently located at “1 / 47-49 Flood Street Leichhardt NSW 2040”. We are here to help you for all your Dental needs. We Dentist Haberfield have gentle and caring dentists with many years of experience. Our aim is to relieve our patient’s dental pain, fix broken teeth and help them look good and feel great. We offer the latest dental technology to diagnose & deliver treatment.

DENTIST OPEN 6 DAYS

Leichhardt Dental Centre is open from Monday to Saturday i.e. 6 days a week whereas we are available between 9 am to 6 pm from Monday to Friday & between 9 am to 4 pm on Saturday.

Leichhardt Dental Centre is located at 1 / 47-49 Flood Street, Leichhardt NSW 2040. Please explore our website to learn more about us and also to find out how we can help you with your dental health needs.

To book an appointment call us on 02 9568 3593 for consultation and treatment regarding any dental treatment. We offer General, Pediatric, Cosmetic, Preventive, Reconstructive, Dental Implants and Orthodontic treatment including clear braces and aligners.

"We accept all Private health insurance cards.”

Welcome to Leichhardt Dental Centre. We are conveniently located at “1 / 47-49 Flood Street Leichhardt NSW 2040”. We are here to help you for all your Dental needs. We have gentle and caring dentists with many years of experience. Our aim is to relieve our patient’s dental pain, fix broken teeth and help them look good and feel great. We offer the latest dental technology to diagnose & deliver treatment.

We are here to help you.

We have dentists with many years of experience. Our aim is to relieve any dental pain that you may have, fix broken teeth and help you look good and feel great. Our benefits are:

We are local

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We accept Hicaps, Visa and Mastercard.

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dentistinhouston · 1 year

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How To Take Care Of Dental Bridges?

If you wear bridges, it is essential to note that they are cleaned on time by following the dentist's procedure. But before that, let us understand what dental bridges are and what advantages dental bridges provide to the patient. To know further, continue reading the article.

What are dental bridges?

The primary function of dental bridges is to replace missing teeth. The most common reason for missing teeth is tooth decay, infection, and sometimes trauma. There are other reasons that will lead to tooth loss, which can also be due to genetic problems and the cause of improper diet, and lack of nutrients. So to get a pleasing smile, you need healthy teeth on either side of your missing teeth. Also, consider visiting dentists open on saturdays near me in Houston for thorough treatment and diagnosis.

Why is there a need for dental implants?

You have a missing tooth or space if your teeth don't work together. This can cause:

Bite problems.

Chewing and eating difficulties.

Pain due to extra stress on your teeth and jaw.

If you feel less confident due to how you look or your smile.

If you have problems, consider seeking a local dentist open on saturday in Houston for a thorough checkup and the perfect treatment.

What are the ways to clean dental bridges?

Here are a few ways that will help you in cleaning dental bridges. These ways are:

● Dental picks:

These tools are like toothpicks made of plastic but have tips crafted with rubber. These dental picks work in the same manner as interproximal brushes.

● Interproximal brushes :

The patient can also use a brush that is like the Christmas tree. These tools will assist in cleaning the surface underneath bridges, which is an effortless and quick way to clean the bridges.

● Floss threaders :

Floss threaders will resemble the eye of a needle. This soft, flexible device will allow you to floss effectively underneath every bridge.

● Water picks:

This cleaning method helps clean the bridge by removing the larger food particle and other debris stuck under the bridge.

These ways of cleaning are offered by the dentist open near me in Houston to every age group according to their comfort.

How to maintain the hygine with dental bridges?

When wearing dental bridges, it is advised to follow strict rules and regulations to clean them so that hygine is appropriately maintained. Here are some of the steps that you need to follow to ensure that the bridges are clean :

Floss after every big meal or at least once a day.

Try to follow the brushing routine twice a day.

Try not to intake tobacco or any other nasty stuff.

Meet the schedule appoint on a daily basis.

Conclusion :

Bridges are the most effective dental procedure that can be used by anyone suffering from an imperfect or uneven smile. Dentists open near me on saturday will also help to boost confidence by providing a happy and cheerful smile. This treatment has been successful for more than 30- 35 years. The quality and designs used in these bridges are transitional and permanent, and this lasts for much longer if maintained by taking adequate care and following hygiene in a regime. To keep your teeth healthy and hygienic, floss and brush your eth twice daily; for queries, you can dentist open saturday near me in Houston.

Article source : https://www.worldofarticles.com/how-to-take-care-of-dental-bridges/

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joondannadental · 2 years

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Address: 21 Wanneroo Road Joondanna, WA 6060 Australia

Phone: 08 6109 6666

Email: [email protected]

Website: https://joondannafamilydental.com.au/

Description: If you are looking for quality dental treatment in Joondanna, we are the team you can rely on. Joondanna Family Dental is a locally-based dental practice that places emphasis on exceptional patient care and impeccable attention to detail. We view our patients’ health and oral care as our utmost priority and will do everything we can, to ensure you have the best teeth and oral health possible. We also believe that an informed, and involved patient is most likely to achieve the highest level of health. Our professional services provided within a welcoming, empathetic and friendly environment will help you reach your oral health goals with a sense of satisfaction and confidence. We constantly strive to educate, whilst treating, our patients, as we firmly believe prevention is better than cure. Situated in Joondanna, and servicing patients all over Perth, our focus is on helping you achieve a smile you are proud of within a comfortable environment.

Keywords: Dentist Joondanna, Joondanna Dentist, Dentist

Hour: Mondays - Fridays: 8am to 6pm, Saturdays: 8am to 2pm, Sundays: Closed, Open on Most Public Holiday

Year of Est.: 2021

No. Of Employees : 15

Social Media Links:

https://www.facebook.com/joondannafamilydental

https://www.instagram.com/joondannafamilydental/

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joondannafamilydental · 2 years

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Joondanna Family Dental is a Perth-based dental clinic that is led by principal dentist Dr Lucy Ge.

If you are looking for quality dental treatment in Joondanna, we are the team you can rely on. Joondanna Family Dental is a locally-based dental practice that places emphasis on exceptional patient care and impeccable attention to detail. We view our patients’ health and oral care as our utmost priority and will do everything we can, to ensure you have the best teeth and oral health possible. We also believe that an informed, and involved patient is most likely to achieve the highest level of health. Our professional services provided within a welcoming, empathetic and friendly environment will help you reach your oral health goals with a sense of satisfaction and confidence. We constantly strive to educate, whilst treating, our patients, as we firmly believe prevention is better than cure.

Situated in Joondanna, and servicing patients all over Perth, our focus is on helping you achieve a smile you are proud of within a comfortable environment.

Name: Joondanna Family Dental Address: 21 Wanneroo Road, Joondanna, Western Australia 6060, Australia Phone: 08 6109 6666 Owner Name: Dr Lucy Ge Starting year of the business: 2021 Number of Employee: 15 Category: Dentist Operating Hours: Mondays - Fridays: 8am to 6pm Saturdays: 8am to 2pm Sundays: Closed Open on Most Public Holiday Keywords: Dentist Joondanna Business Email: [email protected] Website: https://joondannafamilydental.com.au/

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glengraffeo · 2 years

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Weekend Dentist Open in Richmond Hill, NY

With regards to dental consideration, Caring Dentistry of Queens comprehends how troublesome it tends to be to find opportunity in your bustling timetable. Our dentist 11418 is glad to offer adaptable scheduling and appointments for even the most active of patients, ensuring that every one of the patients locally is obliged and receiving the extraordinary dental consideration they merit. At Caring Dentistry of Queens, we give an extensive variety of treatment choices, including preventive, helpful, and, surprisingly, restorative dentistry, depending upon your family's precise dental necessities.

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At Caring Dentistry of Queens, we are glad to offer a family-accommodating practice where patients, everything being equal, can get the dental consideration they need. Whether you are interested in scheduling your child's most memorable dental visit, think your high schooler may require supports, or need new false teeth for Grandpa, our dental clinic near you open on Saturday in 11418 would be eager to assist.

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Visit Our Saturday Dentist Today

Prepared to plan your appointment with our Saturday dentist near you? Contact Caring Dentistry of Queens today, we are continuously welcoming new patients into our training and would be glad to get you added to our timetable for a routine appointment. We anticipate providing your family with the most ideal dental consideration.

#emergency dentist in richmond hill #dentist near me #dental clinic near me #best dentist near me

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tasmiq · 2 years

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Jumu'ah Khuthbah: 22 July 2022

These were some deep soul imprints from the week, and how we felt Allah's breath in Huu, our Zikr song ....

#1. As customary through our local Zikr sohbet, Shaykh Nishaat kicked it off. On Zoom, acclimatised to our crazy normal since COVID hit humanity....Are we online with nafs / our ego, or ruh / our soul...? Our relationship with our nafs in fact, makes us amongst the highest or lowest in humanity!

If you know your nafs, you will know your Rab.

...he matter of factly continued. Being on the spiritual path is possibly the most frustrating experience as a continuous cycle, in every single day! I can certainly attest to this, Ya Shakur that our daily dues of Zikr, Wird and Positivity Prayers provides reprieve from ourselves - which is the hidden haq /truth - of being on this path. Our first Huu ...

#2. He continued that if you look at yourself in a day, you can familiarise yourself with your spiritual path. Where it is truthfully identified that if you know yourself, you will know your nafs. You have to look at the moments of your day and determine the value of involvement of your heart vs your nafs.

#3. Shaykh Taner and Shaykha Muzeyyen continued blowing Allah's breath through Saturday Sohbet. The world runs with everyone fulfilling their own agenda; and in that gamut, Allah says:

I created you to know Me

...With our gratitude and understanding that everything is from Allah. This began explaining how I can find a noticeable level of peace in being "disabled", as noticed by Dr Govender's crew, our PMB Dentist's office (Allah bless these pure hearts, that didn't even charge us a cent to give Ammu an extraction... Subhana'Allah!)

#4. Shaykha Muzeyyen continued poignantly highlighting that there is a password on everything but Allah's password is an open secret,

Pray for Me in My beautiful names...

Are we blind when we can't see Allah?! Our tariqa has a wide diversity of people but with brain and heart compatibility.

#5. Allah's breath continued lastly through Sunday's Learning Circle. Where Shaykh Nishaat highlighted our obsession with nafs, in overcoming the stronghold of it - and where our ruh / soul permeates foremost. Funny enough, this sole focus on one's ego / nafs was something that I was critical of, in my past. However admirably, our focus is on ourselves and not those who refute the role of one's nafs - as my past self 😅

What are our worthy weapons against nafs he enquired? Our daily dues as I've identified them as, and forgiveness of others and ourselves, which is within our control! Forgiving ourself is particularly important for one that tends to get stuck in self-deprecating oneself. Read this equally compelling reminder of the value of forgiveness...

https://sufiuniversity.org/sufism/the-loving-power-of-forgiveness/1256/

Our nafs is in fact the only thing, that is holding us back in our spiritual path. This Is why it is identified as our greater Jihad / struggle. We breathe with shallow breath which is linked to our nafs. We must move from short hu-hu-hu's to Huu-Huu-Huu's. We have to rewire ourselves by unlearning ill habits and by relearning and implementing the change, so that our ruh is seen foremost. Just as mine was identified during my extraction in PMB, again Subhana'Allah!

This takes us to your Abbu's Arabic Khuthbah, after which we must pray that he has a fulfilling and successful work venture at Lythwood Lodge:

Ya Muqtadir Ya Qadir Ya Nafi

(For Allah's ability in goodness)

Ya Ghalib Ya Azim

(For Allah's success)

Ya Wadud Ya Salaam Ya Jami Ya Nafi

(And a unity in love, peace and goodness with those there and us Insha'Allah!)

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stantylerjosephordie · 3 years

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Perfect day, perfect date(hitch x reader)

It was a saturday afternoon in the middle of summer. Unlike your usual sunny and warm weather though, it was a very rainy day, the sky being full of gray clouds. The weather wasn't too hot or too cold, being right in the middle. Therefore, due to the conditions outside, I decided to take my girlfriend to go strawberry picking.

Who was my girlfriend you may ask? She was Hitch Dreyse, the most beautiful human being on this earth, or even in the universe. It was our 1 year anniversary and I wanted to take her somewhere special. Being the amazing significant other I am, I knew that she absolutely adored strawberries. One morning, I saw an advertisement for strawberry picking on a local farm and I knew she would love it.

I was in the car with Hitch, telling her that we were simply going to the dentist when in reality, I had something big planned for her. I used one hand to control the steering wheel and the other to place my hand in Hitch’s and slightly rub her palm. I looked to my side and noticed that she was asleep, leaning her head against the seat and slightly drooling. Finally, I arrived at my destination and was parked in front of a huge field.

“Hitch, wake up,” I whispered, slightly nudging her shoulder.

She slightly opened her eyes and started looking around, eyes wide once she noticed her surroundings.

“Uh y/n.. Did you take the wrong directions? This isn't the dentist.”

I slightly laughed at the confused look on her face and pointed to the window while speaking.

“I decided for our 1 year anniversary I would take you to a strawberry farm. After all, it is the best weather for these kinds of activities.”

She took a moment to process what I said before growing a wide smile on her face and looking at me with bright eyes. I was caught off guard as she jumped on me, tightly wrapping her arms around me and giving me a warm embrace. Our faces were merely an inch apart as she started to speak.

“Thank You so much y/n, you don't even know how much I love you,” she said, her warm breath hovering over my face.

I smiled back before leaving her tight hug and turning my gaze towards the field.

“Shall we go,” I said, making her nod frantically out of excitement.

I left the car and opened the car door for her, jokingly bowing and taking her hand in mine. She giggled and took my hand, getting out the car while quickly patting down her messy hair. We walked towards the entrance while locking pinkies and we were met with an old man. I handed him some money and he gave me a basket, one that would be used for placing strawberries in. Soon enough, we were met with giant rows of bright red strawberries, all waiting to be eaten. I looked over at Hitch who looked amazed, staring at the field in shock. She ran towards all the strawberries and I was running to catch up to her, still holding her hand. We arrived at the first row of berries on this enormous field. Hitch and I leaned down to examine which strawberries were the best. When we both caught our eye on a particular one, we grabbed it at the same time, our hands grazing against each other. We slightly blushed while laughing. Even though our relationship has lasted for a long time, any form of touch still made us extremely flustered.

Soon enough, that big basket was filled with strawberries of all different shapes and forms. By now, it was getting darker and the sun was starting to set. Once we decided we were finished with picking the fruits, Hitch spotted a hill in the distance and took my hand, leading me towards it. After what felt like hours of running, we finally made it to the very top, admiring the view from down below. Hitch sat against a sturdy tree and I joined her, sitting on her lap with the bucket of strawberries placed in my arms. I picked up 2 strawberries and gave her one, signaling for her to eat it. At the same time, we placed the fruits in our mouth and grinned from how amazing it tasted. We stared at each other for a good minute, my eyes being met with her light green ones. She then leaned forward and kissed me rather passionality, her warm lips colliding into mine. The force of the kiss caused me to tumble back, lying on the ground with her on top of me.

We chuckled a bit then she gave me a short peck on my lips. Then, she planted small kisses all over my face and neck, causing a tingly feeling on my skin. One of her hands placed themselves on my cheek, caressing my face, while her other hand was on the back on my head. After the kissing died down, she muttered how beautiful I was and buried her face in my neck, her soft hair tickling my face. I kissed the top of her head and lightly rubbed small circles on her back.

And there I was that day, watching the sunset while my true love was in my arms.

#hitch x reader #hitch #hitchaot #aot #attackontitan #hitchdreyse

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leichhardt-dentist · 1 year

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Best Dentist in Haberfield Australia - Leichhardt Dental

ABOUT Leichhardt Dental

We are here to help you.

We have dentists with many years of experience. Our aim is to relieve any dental pain that you may have, fix broken teeth and help you look good and feel great.

DENTIST OPEN 6 DAYS

Leichhardt Dental Centre is open from Monday to Saturday i.e. 6 days a week whereas we are available between 9 am to 6 pm from Monday to Friday & between 9 am to 4 pm on Saturday.

"We accept all Private health insurance cards.”

Welcome to Leichhardt Dental Centre. We are conveniently located at “1 / 47-49 Flood Street Leichhardt NSW 2040”. We are here to help you for all your needs of Dental Haberfield. We have gentle and caring dentists with many years of experience. Our aim is to relieve our patient’s dental pain, fix broken teeth and help them look good and feel great. We offer the latest dental technology to diagnose & deliver treatment.

We are here to help you.

We have dentists with many years of experience. Our aim is to relieve any dental pain that you may have, fix broken teeth and help you look good and feel great. Our benefits are:

We are local

Quick Service

We are caring and gentle

SPECIAL PLANS AVAILABLE

We accept Hicaps, Visa and Mastercard.

#Dentist Haberfield #dentist leichhardt #Leichhardt Dental #best dentistry

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dentistinhouston · 1 year

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What Do You Know About Deep Teeth Cleaning?

A Deep Cleaning Dental Procedure is a dental operation designed to clean the teeth and gums down to the roots. They often refer it as gum therapy and often dubbed gum scaling and root planing by dental professionals. A dentist or dental specialist will clean each tooth's front, back, and above the gum line during a standard dental cleaning. The dentist repeats this process during a dental deep cleaning to remove tartar and other deposits from the "pocket" that has formed between the tooth's root and gums and goes beyond the gum line to the base of each tooth.

According to Houston dentist open Saturday, When you have gum disease, the pocket between your teeth and gums widens, deepens, and opens up, trapping plaque and tartar. A 3-millimetre or smaller pocket or space exists between healthy teeth and gums. Still, the pocket widens if you have gingivitis or other gum issues.

Why are deep teeth cleaning necessary?

After inspecting your teeth and gums and taking X-rays to help determine the general condition of your mouth, your dentist will typically suggest deep teeth cleaning. A dental deep cleaning near me is frequently recommended as the next step in place of actual periodontal surgery. If your gums are infected, or your gingivitis has advanced. In that case, pulling away from your teeth and creating pockets or spaces that expose the bone 5 millimetres deep or more.

Remember if your gingivitis or other gum issues aren't treated. They could develop into periodontitis. It causes the pockets between your teeth and gums to go so deep that the bacteria start to compromise the bone and support elements of your teeth. According to Dentist In Houston, your teeth may become so loose that you may need to remove them if the condition is not managed.

What are the beneficial aspects of deep teeth cleaning?

According to a same day emergency dentist, deep cleaning your teeth can stop gum conditions like gingivitis from worsening. Remember that even when our teeth and gums are healthy, we all have a lot of bacteria and germs n our mouths. Plaque is a natural result of the interaction of these bacteria with food particles and other things. However, regular brushing and flossing will remove it.

But if you are unable to remove plaque with a toothbrush. In that case, it hardens and becomes tartar, which a professional dental cleaning can only remove. If Leftover tartar on the teeth can cause gingivitis, a dental issue where the gums swell and become red. Even if you are gentle while brushing and flossing, bleeding may happen when you have gingivitis.

Does it pain after a deep dental cleaning?

Like with any dental procedure, you might feel discomfort, bruising, and soreness afterward. Additionally, the local anesthetic may have numbed you for the rest of the day. After a deep dental cleaning, you may want to cling to a diet of soft foods for a few days as your gums will be sensitive. Due to your advanced sensitivity, you should also avoid eating or drinking anything cold.

Conclusion

The above-provided details and information tell us some beneficial details regarding deep dental cleaning. For more valuable updates, please visit dentistopenonsaturday.com.

Article Source : https://www.ihealthytips.com/what-do-you-know-about-deep-teeth-cleaning/

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sand-canyon-dental · 3 years

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Top Dentist Clinic in Irvine California | Dentist Irvine CA

Sand Canyon Dental In Irvine combines art with technology to provide you great results with a gentle touch. Sand Canyon Dental provide Top and affordable Dentist Clinic in Irvine California. Irvine Dentist Open Saturday Near Me – We think your search is over for a Dentist Open Saturday in Irvine. Our staff is available 24 hours. If you have any emergency then you can directly meet us. Call your local dentist in Irvine at (949) 727-9077 or email us at [email protected].

#Dentist Irvine CA #Dentists in Irvine #Dentist Irvine #dentist irvine sand canyon #Best Dentist in Irvine #Dentist in Irvine CA #Irvine Dental Clinic #Dentist Clinic Irvine #dentist near irvine ca #dental clinic irvine ca #irvine ca dentists #Dentist Open Saturday in irvine #irvine dentist open Saturday

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debbie-tanthorey · 4 years

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65 DAYS IN MAY

CHAPTER ONE

Cosmic irony. A dentist saved me. You read that correctly – saved my LIFE, albeit inadvertently. An action as mundane as having one’s teeth cleaned, set fate in motion. Was the week of Thanksgiving 2019, bi-annual check-up. Dentist does his thing after the hygienist finishes. You know the drill (pun intended). Only this time he uncustomarily offers me a hand-mirror, tells me to look in my throat, asks me if I've had my tonsils out.

“No”

“You have a white spot back there, see that?” My eyes shift toward the mirror – I LIE – say I see it (don’t have my glasses on, PRIDE won’t let me admit I can’t see any white patch) He continues, “If you don't mind, am referring you to an oral surgeon for a biopsy.” The nefarious B-word; brain fires a warning shot. B-word leads to the C-word.

Alone now in my car, I fall apart. Hi, I'm a hypochondriac; I don't handle health challenges well despite the jovial persona folks see. A paralyzed-with-fear hypochondriac. Foremost in my thoughts is a long-time friend from high school, currently dealing with a devastating throat cancer diagnosis; I know not to minimize this. (R.I.P. Grady, August 8, 2020 😔) Get to my desk, dial my primary physician immediately, which is a big deal for introverted-me; set up an appointment for a second opinion. The Thanksgiving holiday means I can't be seen until the following week. What is normally a fun, family-gathering time of year, is effectively fogged in with dread, I go through the motions. All-consuming thoughts ruminate incessantly - I'm dying. Yeah, it's what hypochondriacs DO, we ‘dive off into the deep end,’ thrash, drown in ‘what if’s??’

The next week, my doctor smiles after he peers past my tongue into my throat, “Where?” Looks twice, insists I relax, “It's nothing.” He knows me well, adding, “if it would make you feel better, let's follow-up in three months.” His reassurance tempers my panic . . life resumes.

CHAPTER TWO

December 2019, January, February, 2020 the winter that wasn't. Work that was. Mid-February Housing fair at Ohio University's Walter Hall Rotunda. Event coordinator, Donna, introduces herself to Dave and me at our display table. Lively-soul, (I admire extroverts) she explains she recently transferred to this area from Columbus and, among other things, is a Stage 4 breast cancer survivor. Woman is spunky. Piques my interest. I share my sister's email address with her, explaining Cheryl is an 18-month soldier waging the same battle.

March approaches and the little nagging voice in my head reminds, “3-month follow-up, Deb, just do it.” Did. Friday, March 6. Confirmed, no dumb spot. Ha!! Your basic normal appointment. Crisis debunked. As visit concludes, Hillary, his nurse, scrolls through my medical record, turns to mention it's been more than a couple years since my last mammogram, they’ve all been clear, but I'm due, and would I want to set up one.

“Sure”

My youngest, Leah, works in this same medical facility, stop at her desk near the lab to say ‘hello.’ She’s my last to leave home, miss her in my house still. Always good to see and talk to her. She and Ian were married 18 months ago. Her desk-mate, Jordan, coincidentally one of Leah’s friends from her high school days, sets up my mammo appointment for Monday.

MONDAY, MARCH 9. Say ‘hello’ again to the girls at their desk. Check-in. Take a seat, wait my turn. Have had plenty of these 'grams in my lifetime, no big deal, no dread. Bare 'em, squash 'em, and get back to work. This time though, the tech knows my sister, and as I dress when we are done, from behind the screen she casually asks how old Cheryl was when she got her diagnosis and how’s she doing. (60. She is doing remarkably well, maintaining) 10 minutes later, I’m back at my work desk, phone rings, the mammo-tech is on the phone, needing me to return the next day for “a couple more, 'maybe clearer' pics, and an ultrasound.” That’s never happened before. A fleeting shot of panic surges, but since my most recent dread has been unfounded, I attempt to not over-react.

TUESDAY, MARCH 10. Keenly study the radiology-tech’s face for clues when she comes to fetch me from the lobby, I examine her demeanor as if I’m a police detective on a high-profile murder case and she’s my prime suspect. She's calm. So I'm cool. Rescan first, ultrasound second. Not especially pleasant the latter, (idiotic thing to say, was wholly unpleasant ) having your chest unceremoniously smashed in a circular motion against your ribs. The techs are studious, the room silent, I stare at the ceiling. Last time I had an ultrasound was 26 years ago and I was pregnant. Today, no fun at all. Understand now why my sister mentioned she is not a fan of these during her breast cancer struggles.

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAY, MARCH 14, a knock on the front door, mailman is standing on my front porch and in the time it takes me to scribble my name on a card, I'm staring down at a certified letter in my palm, the return address of the clinic lunging off the paper at me. There's a low, barely-audible, foreign sound in my head. It's 'control', in human form, and is protesting/whining as she’s being forcibly dragged away from me. Remind myself I'm somewhat sane, an adult - just open the envelope. I do. And there it is, in black and white, the word -

ABNORMALITY

The rest of the weekend is a blur, debunking the need for concern with my daughters. Every excuse, every plausible explanation of why a letter like this would be mailed. A mistake, surely so. Just a glitch in the system. “Mom, if it was bad, they wouldn't notify you by letter,” Leah insists.

MONDAY, MARCH 16, my primary physician calls in regard to my somewhat-panicky email fired-off to him on Saturday, the day the letter arrives. He speaks in calm tones, explains he was on vacation the past week, is sorry he could not talk to me before the notice arrived, he's seen the offending spot on the film, offers it's so small, unlikely any cause for concern. “Indistinctive,” he assures. Forwarding to a surgeon for review.

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY, MARCH 17, mama-daughter call . . normal stuff .. she’s working today at the clinic. She mentions the aforementioned surgeon has office hours today, maybe I could be squeezed in. I’m in luck, they can. So in a couple hours, I am shaking the hand of the head of surgery. Personable guy, he tells me he's reviewed my pics, if the radiologist had not circled the area, he would not have noticed it right away. Optimism duly noted. He thoroughly examines that body part, pokes and prods, asks me if I feel a lump. “I have not.” Today he doesn't either. Every woman knows about lumps. I absolutely know about lumps. I would never ignore one. Fact of the matter, there is NO lump!

We go over my less than stellar immediate family history of C. (HATE that word). Lung, breast, leukemia. He recommends biopsy to rule out any true problem. The B-word again. This day I say, ‘ok'.

Right here is where COVID-19 makes it's bizarro presence known, personally impacts ME. Doctor advises local surgery center is now closed due to the virus and procedures are limited to emergencies only but he is willing to go before the Board to plead my case. ???? While thankful he is willing to intercede for me; I am tamping down anxiety fighting to rise up, mentally jumping up and down, stomping on it, both feet.

Couple days later I get the call the Medical Board approves me for a needle biopsy. Control-of-my-life, she is sitting on the floor in a fetal position, rocking, whimpering in a locked padded-room somewhere.

CHAPTER FIVE

TUESDAY, MARCH 24, Jess drives me to Jackson. I don't need driven. Appreciate my oldest’s company though. COVID rules necessitate only a patient be permitted to enter any facility; Jess has to wait in the car. At the door, am screened for symptoms, this is the Twilight Zone. And it's too quiet in here. The place is dark and weird and I don't want to be here. I'm the ONLY person in the entire surgery center, I overhear the staff talking, they weren’t on the schedule today, I’m the only patient. hhmmmm, why am I so important?? Creepy.

Am ushered into the procedure room, nurses are professional, put me at ease. Entering, it’s impossible to miss my film aglow on the lighted-box on the wall; she asks if I want to see it. (NO!! I don’t want to see it!!) In reality, robotically, walk over to look. There it is, plain as day. The previously described small-likely-nothing indistinctive spot. Yikes, it's a glaring, ominous, bright white glob with literal tentacles reaching out, it’s in the middle of my precious flesh. No denying this now. Thing’s staring back at me. The only way I know how to describe the rest of the appointment, is that I am having an out-of-body experience, it’s not happening to me. No . . . is not.

You know the lifts in a garage of an auto repair shop? That's what this is. Clumsily climb aboard, assume a face-down position. There's no delicate way to explain the procedure. There's an enormous hole in the table, chest area, your beloved body part dangles and the table is raised, surgeon accesses it from below. Area is securely taped, prepped and numbed. Needles are fun, aren't they??! (eye roll) Am told the table will vibrate, surgeon cautions me to lay perfectly still or the laser will slice me. (no problem, I float away, not even present in the room) And it begins. Computer guides a gatling gun of needles as it commences to stab the tumor, withdraw specimens of cells. Sounds horrific, but it isn't, numbing tends to that. Divert my eyes from the red, fleshy goop siphoning into the container, my eyes clamped shut much of the time. Lasts just a few minutes, dress, then am on my way. Visit the same surgeon in a week for the results. Will not come back to this location, by then this center will also be closed by the pandemic mandate, next appointment is at a nearby hospital.

CHAPTER SIX

APRIL 1, 2020, APRIL FOOL'S DAY. First time I have ever visited this hospital, enter alone, virus protocol at the door. Surgeon’s office on the second floor, take the elevator. Few folks in the building, those that are, like me, are wearing masks. As I wait, pilfer on my ipad. Name is called, off I go. Today I find out this thing is benign, that I have been spazzing for weeks over nothing, naturally. Don't wait long for the Dr., I remain seated as he enters, greets me. He begins talking as he walks across the room, lays down my chart, then turns, making eye-contact, “you are so lucky to have had this test, mammogram did what it was supposed to do; we've caught it early.”

“...(I go effectively deaf) blah-blah-blah-blah-blah CARCINOMA.” A cataclysmic concoction of consonants and vowels strung together into syllables, words, in sentence form, delivered matter-of-factly. What happens here is nothing short of BIZARRE. Always imagined if I heard the words, “you have cancer,” I would react BADLY.

I would -

be angry

weep

go to pieces

vomit

all of the above

In reality -

I did not cry

I did not faint

I did not scream

Instead, sit calmly, silently. Stoic. Utterly, absolutely, wholly dumbfounded. ( this isn’t real - my head hurts - is this a stroke!?) REALITY Brain cells scramble to focus, I listen intently to every word, nod occasionally. Hearing all, absorbing little, during this a crash course on three types of breast cancer and treatment options available. (drifting off - I like him, he gestures with his hands as he speaks of surgery options.) Reconstruction; their plastic surgeon is top notch. The decision is mine. The doctor adds simply, “you know what will happen if you do nothing.”

I do

Unceremoniously and without a second’s hesitation, I react, “Get it off me,” hand on my chest. (subconscious protesting, “I feel FINE!!!! THIS. IS. STUPID!!”)

He nods in acknowledgement of my words, continuing, discusses recurrence rates on the opposite breast. Fuzzy math. Right here I interrupt him with the wave of a hand, “Get them both off me!” For good measure, I repeat it. Decision made, bilateral mastectomy it is, ASAP. Hands me a print-out with my diagnosis, I roll the paper up like a diploma and slip it in my bag. Stare down at the bag I take to work everyday . . (new-reality thoughts commence) or did … back when life was normal.

“Lousy April Fool’s Day, ya gotta admit.” I mutter out-loud to him as I rise to my feet, reach for the door. (how am I walking??!)

Ah, but COVID-19. Global pandemic, if it were a person, he’d be a cold-hearted, merciless jerk. I have to wait 14 days, be symptom-free in order to be permitted in their surgery unit or risk contaminating the whole place. Condemned to live with my killer for 15 more days, let it sleep with me, go to work with me, hang out with me while I visit my kids, grandkids. Melodramatic? You betcha, but the truth. All the while knowing the beast is growing.

I don’t exit the building until I am pre-registered for surgery, receive copious instructions, am assigned a day, APRIL 16. Next to the radiology waiting room, there I message my sister, she is the first to know. I have breast cancer. There’s lab work, x-ray, EKG. Am a zombie. A polite zombie with cancer making idle chitchat with techs who have no freaking clue my unremarkable and average life has evaporated in the last 45 minutes.

Poked, prodded, scanned and x-rayed - my walk across the parking lot is a 1,000 mile trek. Open the door, slide into the seat, fasten the seat belt, inhale deeply, fill my lungs with air just so I feel alive and less numb. Stare at my hands. Wish I could scream without attracting attention. Vomiting would be a blessing about now. I seem to be the same person that got out of the vehicle two hours before. No, am not the same at all. HOW do I do this????! Any of this??

HOW??????????!!!!!

In the days that follow, I will unroll my biopsy report, familiarize myself: invasive lobular carcinoma, 1.6cm, grade 1, ER+PR+HER2-. (translation = hormone fed) I will become versed about the enemy within, that if left untreated, would put me in the ground. Knowledge is power.

CHAPTER SEVEN

How do you tell the people you love, you have cancer? How do you toss a live emotional-grenade in a room? As terrifying as it is for me, I have to watch the realization sink in, the fear in their faces. Jess and Leah, my girls, having initiated a video chat with me as I wait for labs at the hospital. “Mom...well, how’d it go??” Not necessary to share details out loud, I crack, my eyes said all there was to say. Tough to hide that. Awful is the fact I’m in a public waiting room as they ask, am trying to hold it together, not disintegrate, explode into pieces. Watch them absorb what they now understand. I can’t help them.

Morning of April 1, the plan was to go back to work after the appointment. I don't. I aim the car toward home.

But first, I stop at my mom's house, to reveal the diagnosis to her and George. This is the first time I will say the words. Standing in the middle of her living room, my mouth opens and the emotion-less words fall out, “I have cancer too.” It is weird to hear it voiced and I feel bad for her. (her sister, my dad, my brother, my sister, now me) Explain to her what I plan to do and comfort that it'll be alright. She supports my decision: show no mercy to the beast.

Head home.

Turn onto my county road, Jameson calls, asks how the Dr. visit went. Avoiding answering, instead, ask if they are home, that I will be right there. Am thankful I am not them. He ‘knows’ from my tone, detects from the question. My son and wife, Patty, live 1/4 mile from my house, I arrive at their place in only a couple minutes, walk into their living room where they both were, learn the kids are upstairs, state the fact to the both of them, and I sit down for a bit. Just like that. Keep it light and matter of fact.

Life is insane.

CHAPTER EIGHT

What follows is 15 days trapped in a state of in-between. Desperate for normalcy yet knowing I can’t have it. What to do. What. To. Do. Staying right-minded is the aim. Crave it. C-word rarely leaving my thoughts. Every day ‘hospital Jessica’ calls me to ask a series of Covid-19 related questions and asks my body temperature that I am tasked with taking each morning upon waking.

What I CAN maintain right now, is routine.

COVID locks my office door in mid-March, am the only one staffing there. OU student move-in/move-out day is May 3. I’m the one in charge of this, making sure everything is ready. Can’t cancel it . . it goes on with or without me. Scheduling surgery mid-April, slashes two weeks off my prep time for this once-a-year event. Realize the timing could not be better, if there IS such a thing, I have little free time to ponder what’s coming, am too busy. Every day I plow through my work to-do list. Go home too tired to indulge doom and gloom.

Away from the office too, I quickly find another diversion, researching and shopping for items I might need after the surgery. Soft tops with inner pockets for drains management, ice packs, hot packs, special propping pillow. A miracle they all arrive on time because Amazon Prime has been waylay-ed by the corona virus. A sick and twisted ‘Merry Christmas to me’ as each package arrives. In some small way, gives me a semblance of control.

Sleeping is not an issue during these days. It’s my safe place. Sleep deep and well, courtesy of a little purple pill discovered years ago. (thank you, menopause) Each and every morning, have about 30 seconds of ‘normal’ before I remember what demon is living in me.

An entertaining activity during this time is staring in my lingerie drawer at the start of every day, choosing which style, what color bra for one last travel in the rotation. I waffle. At first, suffer pangs of melancholy while looking at the neat row of vibrant colors and lace. Then chuckle, cups are large enough to be made into hats for small children. No one wants to discuss my boobs, but this is an important part of the process of letting go. Acknowledgement. A girl spends what seems like her whole life waiting for these body parts to materialize; coveted, we dress them up, suspend them with steel reinforcement, make the best of them. They feed our children, we rock our babies/grandbabies against them. They’re part of who we are. Mine are set for execution. It’s them or me.

Time ticks by.

CHAPTER NINE

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15. Mastectomy Eve, am something I have never been, radioactive. True. This day go into the hospital ALONE, pass through the covid-19 gauntlet; escorted to a quiet room with a massive machine, bet it was a CT scanner, I don’t ask, I lay down on a metal table and a needle is inserted in my chest region, right side (still find it weird to use the word ‘breast’) and a radioactive tracer is placed in my body at the sight of the tumor. I’d researched the procedure a little (LIE . . I researched a LOT) beforehand, and read it would be EXCRUCIATING. So expect the worst. Naturally. Tech is kind and reassuring; small talk. I notice what great hair he has. Stare at the ceiling as I lay there. Then the doctor comes in, says I’ll feel a stick (had read the area is numbed first) expect that. Did. Not horrendous - that’s an exaggeration, barely felt anything. Assume we wait for the numbing to take effect before he drills through to the core. What I DIDN’T expect, is him to say, “you’re done.” Meaning that tiny prick was it. Say what now? Before the morning’s surgery, I’ll come back to this table, and will find out if the cancer has leeched into any lymph nodes. I dress and exit the building.

ESCAPE! The rest of this day IS MINE. I take my dreary thoughts, my diseased chest, the ‘DD girls’ , and we hit the road, took the long way home. Gave ‘them’ the best darned last-day-alive you could ask for. Was the least I could do considering what I was consenting to do to them. Pitied them and wanted them DEAD at the same time. Them or me.

Flowers waiting for me when I got home, the first time I sobbed in earnest. A torrent of tears.

CHAPTER TEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2020. DtoDD DAY. Death to DD’s Day. (and my Mom’s 81st birthday) Eerily calm. I grab my packed bag, stare at my freshly-made bed as I turn to exit the bedroom. Oh here comes one of those bizarro thoughts I have at times like this. Glancing around, mutter, “when I return, nothing will be the same. Gee, I hope I come back.” Melodramatic to a fault I am. Patty drops me off at the hospital door at a ridiculously early hour. Did I mention this is during a pandemic so no one can come in and that the hospital is spooky-empty and hushed?? Well, it is. Apocolyptically-quiet. Surreal. Check-in is swift and efficient and a surgery-nurse retrieves me promptly, accompany her to the prep area. this is real?

This unit has a circle of several cubicles, all but three are empty though. Settled in, changing into hospital gown, then I have three hours to ponder the fact that the last time I had surgery was 26 years ago and I am not as young as I used to be, and nowhere near ready to die, and lordy, I am no fan of pain. I feel FINE . . how can something deadly be in me yet I feel this HEALTHY??

In the hours I wait, return to scan-room to see if this thing has reached my lymph nodes. Dark room, humming machine. Same tech lets me watch the screen, bright lights like tiny fireworks become visible. No clue what I am watching.

My appointed time arrives, was about 9:30 a.m. Accompanied by a surgical nurse, I walk down the hallway to the O.R., my IV pole in tow. this isn’t real Three surgical staff are busily prepping. Funny how apprehension makes one awkwardly talkative with strangers, more so than normal. I greet them and cannot shut up, blather, “you know how kids took home tonsils in a jar?? (clutching my chest) you have a gallon jug I can take these home with me?” (yes, I really did say it) Laughter from them, that’s good. Am offered a stool to climb onto the table. I do. My God, to the gallows, ‘girls’

Jettisoned into the Twilight Zone right here. In the time it takes me to scoot, get comfortably horizontal on the table, sterile people descend on me, all over me doing things. Arms, legs . . belt around my abdomen. Am picturing masked-ants. Busy, busy. Big light on the ceiling lowering, settles above my upper torso and head. I feel FINE Am here, but not here. Oh God. Gentle voice to my right, as a mask is fitted over my nose and mouth, “take a couple deep breaths.”

Blackness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’m struggling in deep water, not diving down - but up, shooting to the surface of the water, I need air. Regaining consciousness, a jostling, repeating, “Debbie, wake up. Can you hear me?” Awake. Literal first conscious thought, drenched in relief -

“... NOT DEAD”

Body is being tugged, moved, but I’m not doing it. Realization hits me, where I am and what's happened. Conscious, I no longer feel fine, unrelenting waves of nausea wash over me. I give myself over to whichever medical professional wants to tend to me. They can have me, I don’t want me. Not this me.

End up in a hospital room, no recollection whatsoever how. Silence interrupted only by BP cuff on an ankle, inflating noisily at intervals reminding me I’m alive. Not moving. Lord, what have I done? Ice packs under both arms. Detest feeling this gross. I hang onto the sheets for hours, ride out the nausea.

As terrible as that was, and it was horrendous, it ends abruptly once I am fully awake later in the afternoon. In fact, feel remarkably good - considering. Any pain is well-managed. I can move, even lift my arms. I can walk to the restroom, tend to myself. Am hungry and eat a good dinner. Pleasantly surprised at this half of the day.

Curious. Here’s where I gingerly lift the blanket to get my first look. DD-girls are gone, replaced by a thick layer of bandage all across my chest, tubing, two drains, and . . . oh my lord . . . HOW long has my belly been that size??????! God bless boobs, they divert one’s attention from a myriad of flaws. Geez-louise.

Thank you, Covid-19, for the hospital stay’s solitude, I don’t mind, I welcome not having to share this day with visitors. Am only interrupted intermittently by nurses and the doctor. No big deal. Not much to tell. Post on facebook that I survived. Was released to go home the very next day with surgeon’s, “no restrictions. See you in a week, will have lab results for you then.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FRIDAY, APRIL 17. HOME. Here’s where it gets funny. Seriously. Humorous. Reality. My youngest, Leah, volunteers to stay for the first few days. Plan on not needing much in the way of assistance. Stubborn. Not too uncomfortable, prop on pillows, watch tv, pain meds. First-night, decide my bed is where I will sleep, let her have the couch. Undeterred in the middle of the night, manage to get myself to the bathroom alone. Good for ME!! Ah, but then the sun comes up. Right here I discover Super Woman I am not. Attempt the same maneuver and the stabbing pain angrily asserts, “NOT THIS TIME, SISTER!” Ah, bladder is bossy and insistent. But Pain is in charge. “#*&@*#&$}” a little too loudly (translation) “Leah!! Help!!” She comes trotting and I’m laughing, trapped in my own bed. Arms frozen at my sides, literally cannot move under my own power without an instant excruciating reaction. With urgency (full bladder loudly protesting) instruct her to wring a bed sheet, get to the foot of the bed, hold the ends, let me grab the middle . . . PULL!! It works!! Whew, lesson learned, until I could get up and down on my own unaided, I didn’t sleep there again.

Drains. Grateful to only require two. Three times a day they need emptying. Unceremoniously, Leah’s job. When large portions of flesh are removed, one’s body compensates by attempting to fill the space with fluid, drains are typically inserted to draw off this fluid, speeding recovery. These ‘things’ (drain hoses) are just under my skin across the width of my chest, a stitch holding them in place at the hole (yikes) where they exit on either side. The bulbs at the end of the 12 inch lines are clear grenade-shaped receptacles collecting wound-juice. (you winched at the visual, didn’t you? haha) They get full. Necessary to milk the line first, with sterile gloved fingers of one hand, she grasps and steadies the line where it exits my body, with the other, she slides her pinched fingers down the tubing, pushes the ooze and any clots to the end. Pops the top of the bulb, empties 'ick' into a measuring cup, and logs the amount and color. Squeezes the bulb as she closes the lid so siphon will commence. My only job is to 'enjoy' the vigorous suction. eek

I sit dutifully still on a stool while she goes about her ‘work’, chit-chatting about this and that, am intentionally not watching the gore slipping, dripping into the bulb. She's not hurting me but every now and then will feel a subtle tug, a movement of the tubing. (shudder) Sunday evening she taps the bulb’s bottom on the table, remarking, “darned clot won’t fall through.” (rap, rap, smack) “Eww, that’s gross,” she says, “clot (tap) won’t (tap) let go ( jiggling it, the dangling, stringing bloody blob just hanging there, swaying back and forth).” My skin is warming . . . interesting sensation . . getting hot. Really HOT. She is sitting right next to me, is talking but her voice is fading. Am looking her direction, but she is drifting away in a misty vapor . . . waaaaaaaaaaaay over there now, voice, can’t hear her. Vision going and the room is moving ever so slightly.

I see my girl in slo-mo, she realizes what is happening, "Mom, Mom ... MOM!" (my mouth no longer works, cannot respond) hear her excited, “DAD!!!! Come quick!! Help! Mom’s passing out!!!”

Didn't. (did get to the couch . . sat still for an hour, feet up . . w/ice pack alternating on my neck, forehead) Didn’t vomit, so that's a 'WIN" for the day.

I learn to do it myself once she goes home. No big deal.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 23. A week passes, mostly uneventful. Sick leave, lounging, medicating, tracking excretion of Deb-juice, healing. Tough to remember the days in March and early April when I felt GOOD. I feel terrible. Blah - which to me, IS terrible. No fever, no signs of infection, just a general feeling of malaise. (such a descriptive word, ‘malaise’) Post-op visit, a follow-up with the surgeon. Oldest daughter Jess, chauffeur for the day. The entire drive down to Gallipolis, I imagine they’ll take one look at my sorry self, react in horror, re-admit me immediately. I have to be dying, something has to be terribly wrong. No one can feel this bleak and survive.

Mull my life over for that hour drive, did I live it adequately, what is left that I have not done, am I going to throw up IN or OUT of her car . . oh woe is me . . my thoughts are rambling, disjointed, grim. (BEYOND melodramatic) LOL Get to the hospital, I have to admit I cannot even walk in under my own power. I have no power, drained dry. Jess requests a wheelchair and I feel how I imagine being 150 years old and feeble feels, reliant on a stranger for transport up to the waiting area. Pitiful. I hate this. Too puny to care.

And remember COVID . . Jessica can’t come in with me. My mummified remains parked in a desolate waiting room. sigh I need a transfusion. I need a transplant, I need SOMETHING . . want my life back. Where’d Debbie go??!!

Eventually wheeled into the exam room (decrepit thing that I am) to wait. Surgeon enters, his normal perky self, smiles my direction. I lament the state of (absence of) well-being and inability to go to the bathroom for DAYS. (how embarrassing) “Sweetheart (NO, he did not say 'Sweetheart’) it’s your pain meds doing this to you. STOP THEM.”

huh?????!

Examines the 12-inch incisions on either side of my torso. Both doing well. No stitches to remove, interior stitches will dissolve on their own. Exterior sterie strips will fall off in the next week. He studies my drain-log, then simply remarks, “looks great, amounts are decreasing steadily. You want them (drains) out today?” (glimmer of hope) Instantly agree, so without ceremony and with a quick snip of a stitch and a wiggle of the tube and a firm TUG, one Jackson Pratt drain is out. Nasty thing now coiled on the exam table. OUT!!! The other follows swiftly. Oh dear lord . . feels soooooooo good to be rid of those things. Best part . . expected to have them at least another week, that the extrication of same, would be horrendous. Wasn’t. Didn’t hurt actually. Bandaids applied to my newest holes. No stitch, no nothing. “See ya in a month. No restrictions.” Surprised he didn’t pat me on my sorry head.

Trip home is infinitely better, envision the tunnel and light shining in the distance. aaaahhhhh

Not another pain pill crosses these lips . . the man is a genius. (epilogue: my decline was indeed induced by the pain meds . . out of my system - recovering was a breeze. TIP: get off them as soon as you can)

P.S. Almost forgot the most important part!!!!! Lab results!!! Geez . .the tunnel, the light . . THIS IS WHY!!! TODAY I learn I am CANCER-FREE‼️‼️‼️ Well, I would hope so!! Nearly six pounds of flesh sacrificed / removed . . CLEAN MARGINS around the tumor. Lymph nodes are CLEAR!!! Sentinel node removal a bit messy, seven others unable to be separated from it, come out as well. Sobering fact is that I, nor the surgeon, felt a telltale lump - but it was there. In black and white, sobering words, “STAGE TWO”. Appointment with oncologist in May to discuss options. Why??? Here's the thing about breast cancer, sometimes IT COMES BACK.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Want to tell you the euphoria was warmly welcome and long-lasting. Yes and no, in that order. Sharing with friends that surgeon ‘got it all’ was met with copious genuine exclamations of ‘thank God!’ and ‘hallelujah’. For good reason. Pathology report of clean margins and clear nodes is a positive outcome. IT’S GONE!! And like me at this juncture, believe that’s the end of it. Too few days of relief pass swiftly - the reality that it may not be over, steadily seeps back in as I educate myself. But with a stubborn childlike optimism, trust the oncologist will study my diagnosis, pronounce my journey with this evil thing over. “Deborah, congrats, you’re finished with it and it with you. Have a nice life.” Let’s go with that. I want it.

Just a couple more weeks to find out.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the meantime, at home I’m getting bored. ‘Bored’ is WONDERFUL. It’s normalcy. And a strong signal that it’s time for life to go on.

I am well enough to attend to work emails, becoming more frequent as students prepare to leave Athens officially, the stalwart diehards who came back after Spring Break despite the lockdown that commenced mid-March. Boredom, the impetus, that gets me out of the house.

TUESDAY, APRIL 28, 12 days post-op, several days free from pain-killers and feeling almost back to my old self, I slide behind the wheel of my car, new precious pillow between sensitive chest and the seatbelt and drive to work. Man oh man, how I missed 70′s radio . . sing all the way. I last at my desk for 4 hours this first day, mindful to recognize limitations, cut the day short, but go home triumphant.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 30. Meet-my-oncologist day. (mentally mark off THAT on my ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’) First things first, why am I here??! Surgeon recommends I have a chat with the man . . rule out the need for anything further. Youbetcha. Today is THE. DAY!! Fully expect to be ‘blessed’ and sent on my way . . “Debbie, you were lucky, it’s all gone. Your cancer journey was intense and brief and now it’s over. Go live your life, girl.”

Check in. Hunker down at the back of the vast lobby, comfy chair. I absorb the room. Oh you know I don’t want to, but I do. A few patients are here. One unhealthy looking older lady on a hospital stretcher over there. Another slightly-weathered woman near the wall, wearing a turban. And there’s me. Odd-man out, pain-killers now out of my system: (yes yes, am minus the ‘girls’) full head of thick hair, kinda sorta minimally wrinkly, feeling strong and healthy . . . like me again.

Name called. BP and weight. Perks of the day . . bp is good, especially good for me. Literally-asked-the-nurse-to-repeat-the-numbers good. And am down 10 lbs. I’ll take it!! Gee, this visit is headed in the right direction!

Lead to an exam room, given a questionnaire. Ugh. Bottom of the page. Please list details of immediate family members . . . health issues, explanation. Here we go . . Melvin / dad / died in 2000 @64 / lung cancer (scribble to the side ‘life time smoker’ . . like it somehow negates the dying) Tim / brother / died in 2000 @39 / leukemia (again, the scribbling, master mechanic, hands in chemicals) Stephen / brother / died in 1957 @6 weeks / S.I.D.S. Bottom of this page is an OCD nightmare, ink scribbles in every direction, sad that I ran of space. Add, “Cheryl / sister / is 61 / @60 stage IV breast cancer (’maintaining’ . . didn’t add, but wanted to, “THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!”) Janice / mom / is 81. Terry / brother / is 55.” Finishing up, as MY oncologist enters the room.

Brief introductions . . Cursory physical exam of surgical site.

Oncologist reviews the information I provide, studies my chart. Two verbal inquires of me -

do you or have you ever smoked? “no”

do you drink alcohol and how much? “rarely”

He pauses. He can ascertain I’m not fudging the details. “Never?” he queries again. Shake my head in the negative. Sincerely he adds, “this makes NO sense. Risk factors are not there for breast cancer. No sense at all.”

Dr. Hamid relates there is a genetic test that can be performed using my tumor tissue, (eewwww, they still have it!!) the results determining whether or not chemo therapy would be of any benefit to me. Again - I am confused why a person who is now disease-free, minus seven pounds of her best flesh, needs ANYTHING additionally. I consent. He jots down for me the chemo recipe that I would receive if it’s indicated. Metaphysically burns my fingertips as I take the slip from him. (chemo??! stifling a scream) If not, I would be prescribed a pill to stop my body's remaining production of estrogen. Anastrazole is the drug of choice, there are a few common side effects: bone/joint pain, fatigue, etc. Majority of women experience no side effects of any kind, he assures. (mental note of an over-achiever: I will be one of THOSE) Dr. adds, “Lab work takes about two weeks to get back. Come see me in two weeks please. Oh wait . . you drive quite a distance to get here, right? Just call my office on May 13, we can handle this over the phone.”

uh huh . . . so much for being blessed and sent on my merry way. CHEMO, sub-set item under 1. CANCER on ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’. TRULY . . . there is nothing I enjoy MORE, than waiting on test results. (epic eye-roll right here, stomach twists in knot)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

This is the last chapter of ‘65 DAYS IN MAY’ (today it’s February 25, 2021) I am a procrastinator. Am still me, after all. My instructions were to call oncologist’s office on Wednesday, May 13, 2020, to learn whether or not chemo therapy was the next step in my cancer treatment. By now I have little recollection of the blur of days between April 30 and when Dr. Hamid called me with my genetic testing results, my Oncotype score. Every day seemed endless, recovering well, feeling progressively more like myself. I let work duties bulldoze me through those days, thoroughly occupied. I was thankful to have nearly 300 college students moving-out and moving-in on May 3rd. Grateful to be bone weary at the end of each day, having little time to thrash about the prospect of chemo - that, and staying safe as COVID rampaged.

TUESDAY, MAY 12, at my desk, alone in a pandemic-locked-down office. One last day not having to call, know anything. Ignorant bliss. Phone rings, spy caller I.D., uh-oh, cancer center. I stop breathing. Lift receiver, ‘Hello, this is Debbie.’ Not breathing. HERE WE GO (9+ months later now, still recall the catch of my breath and pounding heart. Am not exaggerating when I tell you time froze.) Dr. Hamid’s voice was soft, he wasted no time relating my Oncotype score plus chance of recurrence is low and chemo is not necessary in my situation. He’ll call in an Anastrazole script for me, it cuts my chance of recurrence to less-than 5%. Only question I had, “what exactly was my number?” 17 “See you again in 6 months,” as he ends the call. Stare at the phone receiver clenched in my hand.

NO CHEMO . . with exorbitant gusto, I EXHALE

Celebration fireworks in my head, both hands in the air, stifle an audible, triumphant HALLELUJAH! For the moment, issued a reprieve. I soak it up. Once composed, swivel chair to my right, run my palms slowly, purposefully over the desk calendar, lift the pages, studying, absorbing. Begin to count . . . .

STINT IN PURGATORY - 65 DAYS IN MAY

EPILOGUE

(stay tuned)

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