Dr. Von Bulow's Articles

Okay, so I’m not referring to the time it takes to read Molar Jockey confessions but you could do worse. You could have spent four minutes with me watching the traditional Annual USC Trojan Football Gift to the less fortunate. And this time, the happy celebrating recipients were the UW Huskies, losers of all their games last year (I know it’s better to give than receive but the Trojans even gifted the Bruins a few years ago. You gotta draw the line somewhere.)

So Saturday, even the most casual observer would have called my behavior into question, let alone my licensed use of oral power tools. And what can you say about a health care professional a few years over 40 bouncing around in his padded living room for three hours cussing out the television and even the crummy network that obviously never got what the “vision” in television stood for?

You’d have thought that my life was riding on the Saturday afternoon activity of a bunch of kids young enough to practically be my grandchildren if I wasn’t such a late-bloomer. It’s bad enough that I can sit here and actually confess my quality of life took a ridiculous hit.

But spending four minutes with me watching Trojan football could make you a better person, especially if you happen to be an over-achieving clinical psychologist. And spending four minutes in the dental chair could save your life.

One American an hour dies of oral cancer. Finding a precancerous oral lesion is part of a 4-minute oral cancer exam.

It’s scary enough that oral cancer is the only form of the disease that has increased in its incidence over the last 50 years. The disease has a higher mortality rate than breast cancer, colorectal cancer, and prostate cancer. While early detection brings an excellent prognosis and 5-year percentage survival rates in the 90s, the over all 5-year rate is less than 50%. And 27% of oral cancer patients actually have no history of smoking or using spit tobacco.

So the key is early detection. The disease is largely preventable. The exam takes about four minutes; it’s easy, doesn’t hurt, and is totally non-invasive. Here’s another tragic statistic: only about 50% of Americans see a dentist on a regular basis.

One technological advance that has saved numerous lives is the Oral CDx brush biopsy. We’ve used ’em since Day One. And I know I benefitted from the awesome opportunity of meeting anti-tobacco advocate and Baseball Hall of Fame announcer Joe Garagiola and later screening major and minor leaguers at Spring Training in Arizona. When you do something a few hundred times in two days even slow studies like me eventually get it.

A brush biopsy is pretty much the equivalent of an oral Pap smear. A soft brush is gently used to retrieve a sample of cells. Imaging technology can then find a few atypical cells out of hundreds of thousands. The sample is taken anywhere an unexpected soft tissue color inconsistency is observed. And size is not a factor; the smaller the lesion the more likely a favorable prognosis.

We’ve screened close to one hundred lesions and had about ten returned with atypical cells noted. All were pre-cancerous and were later removed by an oral surgeon almost the way you’d remove the world’s smallest wart.

Please share this column with family and friends and urge a dental visit and an oral cancer exam.

Four minutes of all the drama that goes with me watching Trojan football might seem like life and death but four minutes spent having an oral cancer exam could be the real deal.

For more info regarding early oral cancer detection please visit www.sopreventable.com.

So I guess I’m supposed to write about stuff like oral health, health insurance, and the impending national healthcare transformation but what about my health? What about me? What about my mental health?

Without Trojan football, I’d probably kick the cat and that’s no good because I don’t have one. And without Salute to Troy, I probably couldn’t get through August and everyone else’s vacations…or even last weekend.

And you try writing this column every week for going on twelve years and see how you like it. I have this ritual where I write the thing the Friday before the Wednesday deadline, the actual column coming out on the following Monday. Like I said, you try figuring out the method to that madness.

This Friday was totally out of the question because it was bookkeeper visitation day. No way to be even slightly creative when someone is interrupting you every five minutes reminding you how much it costs to be a dentist (“Was this bill for marketing or continuing education or equipment? Is this for Worker’s Comp; thought you paid that one with the really big one you send into Anthem for everyone’s health insurance? Is this a new consultant or is it the old one with a new company name?“)

Back in the Day, when ole Mel Gibson used to ride a horse and paint his face all blue just like some re-caffeinated Seahawks fan a few years before he bought Malibu, didn’t he used to scream something all the time? Wasn’t it something like, “FREEDOOOMMM!!!“? Bet he meant freedom from insurance.

Never thought I’d say this but Mel, I understand.

Oh, Friday also means a chance to go across the street to the bank and squeeze in one final deposit for the week. Imagine my elation on seeing six insurance envelopes in the mail. Imagine my dismay when the contents of the six messages from the folks in the tall buildings Downtown revealed payment delays, a missing detail, or the lack of coverage for a given procedure. Not a single check.

And Friday, at least three different people told me they don’t go to the dentist because they don’t have insurance. Hmmm, I was wondering if that was sort of like living forever because you don’t have any life insurance.

When I finally made it to Friday night CNN, I saw a bunch of knuckleheads calling the President a Nazi because he wanted to mess with health insurance. Thought maybe they had him confused with the guy who wire-tapped citizens, tortured folks, and invaded a sovereign nation posing no threat to the U.S. But let’s leave the past in the past.

Turns out, the leading cause of bankruptcy in the U.S. is a health-related catastrophic event. Turns out, half those bankruptcy folks have health insurance; just not enough.

Friday night, I tossed and turned, somewhat stressed over my concerns for another fat monthly check due to Anthem Blue Cross, team members ill or on vacation, and the uncertainty of unchartered economic waters.

But on Saturday, I took a mega-dose of life’s best medicine. And what else would you call exercise, laughter, and the company of friends and family? Did I leave out the Salute to Troy, another year of USC Trojan football domination, and a whole fall season of Saturdays that take you back to being a kid again?

And a few days in the sun…with absolutely no thoughts of freakin’ insurance.

Okay, can anyone out there help me with this one? So I don’t know much about the alternative rock band “The Killers” except that their song “Human” sounds more like mainstream but that could be due to my hearing it every single day in spin class (For the uninitiated, spin class is aerobics on stationary bikes in a room full of mirrors. Really.)

“…la la la…are we human or are we dancer?” now plays in my head all day long. If it weren’t for my trusty dental drill and the loud sucking sound our vacuum makes I’d probably be borderline bruin by now.

Have you ever wanted to ask just one question of someone to clear things up? Like, did you really pay someone to sit down and write the “Five Dollar Foot Long” song? Or, why do you keep on playing those “Clipper Loud!” commercial spots (wouldn’t it be a little more merciful and human to just let the Clips slip out of town around 3AM by Greyhound?) Or, which one of you knuckleheads said, “Sarah Palin, what an awesome idea!!!”

So are we human or are we dancer? I guess if I can’t ask lead singer Brandon Flowers what in the Sam Piazza (coming soon) he’s singing about, I’ll just answer the question myself. Okay Brandster, but first I’ll just pretend you’re in my dental chair and ask, “Why dancer; why not dancers?” “Are we dancer?” sounds more like a bunch of dentists wondering if they’re a reindeer.

Anyway, I must be human because I dance sort of the way the previous City Council played nice with the School District, the Chamber, and business development.

And another one of those questions comes up. Ms. Mayor, we were actually in the movie Viola together so why can’t you guys help out the School District? If you have $37 million in reserve on a rainy day, why not hand over a measly $2 million to get the schools out of the red? Why not preserve the quality of the one local institution that’s the glue for stuff like property value and community pride? So congrats and I hope the new guys are more human than dancer.

And finally back to spin class and one last question; I’m still smiling.

So I know Woody Allen would opt for solitary confinement over lunch with an insurance agent but shucks, I like most of my insurance guys and Woody never met Alvin.

I totally respect the insurance business; to prove it, I’ve been paying them through the nose for around thirty years. And I never even knew Alvin from the gym was in the premium game until he started groaning away about some recent dental care. I think his words were, “Wow, you guys really run a scam.” Turns out, Alvin had had root canal care from a specialist and was now having a crown made to protect the treated tooth. Alvin smelled conspiracy.

“So Alvin, you wouldn’t have an internist do your bypass would you?” “

Jack, you’re the fastest spinner on the planet so you’ll understand I’ve used up all my benefits on one tooth. I actually had to pay out of pocket (whimper.)”

“So Alvin, what do you do anyway?” “I’m in insurance.”

“So Secret Agent Alvin, did you know annual maximum benefits for premium payers are basically the same now as they were in 1970? Wonder who set up that scam?”

I’m still smiling. Even though I’m still hearing “…or are we dancer?” And the answer is: Yes, if you sell dental insurance.

So I realize things are a little tougher to figure out these days. And there are times when I swear I’d rather be represented by Manny, Moe, and Curly Joe than the Governator, the old TC “Gang of Five,” and whomever it is who keeps leaving out my contact info at the end of these columns. Then again, sometimes you never know when help is on the way.

Like I knew there was a Bailout of some sort going on (I read about it in all the papers.) I just didn’t figure it would be limited to some hard luck CEOs. And I’ve always been uncomfortable judging folks who weren’t bruin fans. But how do y’all feel about being judged by banks? Don’t know about you guys but to me it feels like having the Crips and Bloods jump all over my case just because I have a few parking violations.

And just when I was prouder of my alma mater than Joey Chestnut can eat hot dogs on the Fourth of July the school goes totally ghetto. The USC president, athletic director and basketball coach clam up like a bunch of Watergate defendants, undoubtedly following the sound legal advice traditionally reserved for cheats and liars. If somehow Coach Pete Carroll is implicated in the death of Karl Malden, I’m gonna give up following organized sports and spend most of my leisure time watching the Clippers and bruin football.

I guess in an attempt to get away from it all, I went out and played some golf this morning. And I say “some” golf because according to patient/foursome member/tool collector Steven D., during my eighteen holes and somewhere around 4 hours at Santa Anita, I only played 3 holes of golf requiring some 23 minutes. The rest was just a long angry walk in the park spiced up with some dark blue dentalesian soliloquies.

Then, out of the abyss, a miracle.

After several decades of my hiding, I ran into Mr. Robert Low, my Government teacher from Mark Keppel High. And I guess I’m insufferably Old School. I’ll never text and I know you’re never supposed to say never but I’m also never gonna tweet (I am on Facebook.) I use my cell phone the way the bruins win BCS championships and I know one day I’ll get hauled in for verbally and physically abusing my computer. And even though I met him around the time the Beatles landed, it will never be Bob. It will always be Mr. Low.

Mr. Low was my all-time toughest, most memorable and best teacher during my 4-year stint at Mark Keppel. I did more Government reading the summer before my year with Mr. Low than I did during the year with all my other classes combined. Our group of about 20 or so students in “Accelerated” Government included a few National Merit Scholars, assorted future doctors and lawyers, and maybe the best sportswriter this side of Jim Murray. So in that select company, who wouldn’t try handing in a book report, having scanned only the inside cover? Oh, and the book? Pretty lightweight stuff; only Senator Fulbright’s Old Myths and New Realities, his landmark commentary on “The arrogance of power.”

“Mr. Von Bulow, would you mind stopping by for a word before leaving class?” And later, “Mr. Von Bulow, should you choose to return a book report in the future, I suggest you first read the book.”

Years later, after I’d been practicing dentistry in Temple City for a while, I opened up a “City of Covina” envelope (another parking ticket?) It was correspondence from then and now Covina City Councilman, Mr. Robert Low. Mr. Low had spotted one of my nasty little notes to the Times’ Sports Viewpoint; he recalled the halcyon years at Keppel with classmates pediatrician Bill Visser and sportswriter extraordinaire Scott Ostler.

I still have the note.

And what better time to re-read Senator Fulbright’s views on “The arrogance of power?” Think I’ll pass a copy forward to the next hard luck CEO I meet.