A shorter version of this piece was published in Southern Maine Agency on Aging Senior News, September-October 2011
Diamond Mining
I had always heard that diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but I think I took it to a whole new level. The procedure that I had been saving for was a lengthy one in the dental chair. I had to have extra numbing agent because my nerves come directly off my spinal cord to my lower jaw instead of the jaw joint like most peoples do.
I was less than a minute away from getting up after four and a half hours. My dental hygienist was putting some finishing touches on my temporary. I felt something hit the back of my throat as she had just taken off the dental dam to provide me with some much-needed comfort. I sat bold upright to help get whatever it was out of my throat. But, alas, it was too late. My swallowing reflex kicked in much to my dismay.
She brought me to the bathroom where I was instructed to try to bring whatever it was that I swallowed back up by sticking my finger down my throat. There was nothing in my stomach and nothing was forthcoming. It was not until a few minutes later that she showed me the drill bit that is called a diamond bur. We discussed going to the ER to have my stomach pumped. We also discussed that even though this was rare, the likelihood that I would just pass it through my gastro intestinal tract in the next few days was good. I opted for the latter option. My dentist also told me to go to the ER for an X-ray if I felt any pain.
My dentist recommended that I eat a lot of fiber and drink copious amounts of water, which was not a problem for me to accomplish. The other instruction was that I had to carefully examine my stool to make sure that it too shall pass. He said that if it did not appear in the next 4 days, I should see my doctor.
Dutifully, I went home and ate oatmeal, ground flax seed, and wheat bran along with numerous prunes. My mouth and jaw were sore for the next day or so, so this diet was mechanically appealing. This was very tasty as my usual diet was low carbohydrate. I found that my stools became much larger and softer and less smelly. This made the careful inspection less arduous as the next couple of days developed a ritual of diamond mining that I will not soon forget.
What transpired when I told my friends and co-workers and even a few chosen patients was somewhat of a surprise to me. The response was almost uncontrollable laughter from my audience. Now to be quite honest this could have been a very serious incident. The malfunctioning drill chuck sent this tiny torpedo to the back of my throat while the drill was running. Had my tongue not slow and deterred the trajectory it could have impaled the back of my throat or a tonsil. Causing a hemorrhage it could have been life threatening.
Also it could have gone down my windpipe meaning a trip to the ER would not have been avoidable. This very sharp drill bit could have torn my esophagus or stomach lining or the more probable event it could have perforated my bowel at any of the numerous turns and twists it takes on its way out of my body. In spite of these very ominous possibilities, this event brought about great peels of laughter from almost everyone I told.
One such incident was when my tale of woe was recounted to a friend’s co-worker. Their office was in mourning over the loss of a colleague who had recently died after a long struggle with breast cancer. Tears flowed in their grief and loss. She burst out laughing at the absurdity of what had happened and said that even though she felt a little guilty for laughing at something that could be so serious, she felt better after her belly laugh that also brought tears to her eyes.
This reinforced my practice as a hospice nurse to ask grieving families to tell me a funny story about their loved one who is either in the last stages of dying or are already dead. This request has never failed to elicit very funny stories that bring peels of laughter in recounting tales of escapades of the loved one. I point out that healing from loss tears of sorrow and tears of laughter are all-important in processing the grief. The joy in a life is the legacy of that life, not the death.
One of my patients was having a hard time coming to terms that her life was coming to an end. Her sister who was also a nurse nearly fell out of her chair laughing so hard at my drill bit tale. She said she had not laughed so hard in a very long time. She then shared a story of her sister, the patient, who was driving with her four young children and the car broke down on the side of the road. No one was stopping to help because she did not have anything white to hang from the antennae to alert passing drivers of her plight. Being a well-endowed woman, she removed her bra and hung it out and it received the much-needed attention. This story made all of us, including the patient, laugh, bringing the much-needed relief from the intensity of the visit.
Greatly relieved, on the third day of my fiber diet and inspection duties, the diamond bur made its appearance. Both it and I were none the worse for the wear. When it is my time to go and when I am gone, I hope that many of my stories will be recounted along with this one of the diamond in the roughage!
Diamond Mining
I had always heard that diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but I think I took it to a whole new level. The procedure that I had been saving for was a lengthy one in the dental chair. I had to have extra numbing agent because my nerves come directly off my spinal cord to my lower jaw instead of the jaw joint like most peoples do.
I was less than a minute away from getting up after four and a half hours. My dental hygienist was putting some finishing touches on my temporary. I felt something hit the back of my throat as she had just taken off the dental dam to provide me with some much-needed comfort. I sat bold upright to help get whatever it was out of my throat. But, alas, it was too late. My swallowing reflex kicked in much to my dismay.
She brought me to the bathroom where I was instructed to try to bring whatever it was that I swallowed back up by sticking my finger down my throat. There was nothing in my stomach and nothing was forthcoming. It was not until a few minutes later that she showed me the drill bit that is called a diamond bur. We discussed going to the ER to have my stomach pumped. We also discussed that even though this was rare, the likelihood that I would just pass it through my gastro intestinal tract in the next few days was good. I opted for the latter option. My dentist also told me to go to the ER for an X-ray if I felt any pain.
My dentist recommended that I eat a lot of fiber and drink copious amounts of water, which was not a problem for me to accomplish. The other instruction was that I had to carefully examine my stool to make sure that it too shall pass. He said that if it did not appear in the next 4 days, I should see my doctor.
Dutifully, I went home and ate oatmeal, ground flax seed, and wheat bran along with numerous prunes. My mouth and jaw were sore for the next day or so, so this diet was mechanically appealing. This was very tasty as my usual diet was low carbohydrate. I found that my stools became much larger and softer and less smelly. This made the careful inspection less arduous as the next couple of days developed a ritual of diamond mining that I will not soon forget.
What transpired when I told my friends and co-workers and even a few chosen patients was somewhat of a surprise to me. The response was almost uncontrollable laughter from my audience. Now to be quite honest this could have been a very serious incident. The malfunctioning drill chuck sent this tiny torpedo to the back of my throat while the drill was running. Had my tongue not slow and deterred the trajectory it could have impaled the back of my throat or a tonsil. Causing a hemorrhage it could have been life threatening.
Also it could have gone down my windpipe meaning a trip to the ER would not have been avoidable. This very sharp drill bit could have torn my esophagus or stomach lining or the more probable event it could have perforated my bowel at any of the numerous turns and twists it takes on its way out of my body. In spite of these very ominous possibilities, this event brought about great peels of laughter from almost everyone I told.
One such incident was when my tale of woe was recounted to a friend’s co-worker. Their office was in mourning over the loss of a colleague who had recently died after a long struggle with breast cancer. Tears flowed in their grief and loss. She burst out laughing at the absurdity of what had happened and said that even though she felt a little guilty for laughing at something that could be so serious, she felt better after her belly laugh that also brought tears to her eyes.
This reinforced my practice as a hospice nurse to ask grieving families to tell me a funny story about their loved one who is either in the last stages of dying or are already dead. This request has never failed to elicit very funny stories that bring peels of laughter in recounting tales of escapades of the loved one. I point out that healing from loss tears of sorrow and tears of laughter are all-important in processing the grief. The joy in a life is the legacy of that life, not the death.
One of my patients was having a hard time coming to terms that her life was coming to an end. Her sister who was also a nurse nearly fell out of her chair laughing so hard at my drill bit tale. She said she had not laughed so hard in a very long time. She then shared a story of her sister, the patient, who was driving with her four young children and the car broke down on the side of the road. No one was stopping to help because she did not have anything white to hang from the antennae to alert passing drivers of her plight. Being a well-endowed woman, she removed her bra and hung it out and it received the much-needed attention. This story made all of us, including the patient, laugh, bringing the much-needed relief from the intensity of the visit.
Greatly relieved, on the third day of my fiber diet and inspection duties, the diamond bur made its appearance. Both it and I were none the worse for the wear. When it is my time to go and when I am gone, I hope that many of my stories will be recounted along with this one of the diamond in the roughage!