The Nose Finally Knows (The Hard way)

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So how did I wind up resembling a smiling, but at least not drooling, likeness of the GOP mascot?

It all started some 36-years ago when I was barely born and just starting out as the new molar jockey guy in uptown Temple City.

A little while earlier, I’d put my stellar golf career on hold. And that’s what happens when it takes six and a half hours to play 18-holes with four non-English speaking Japanese sailors in Long Beach. But what followed, thanks to those guys, was tennis, a great outlet for horrible behavior, and a World Class kick second serve…and…an inguinal hernia.

When I noticed the sprouting I immediately went to a General Surgeon/ patient/ friend of mine and the dang thing got fixed the next day. And maybe I mostly looked at my shoes for about a week but shortly thereafter I was good to go. Those were the good old days.

I HATE hospitals; spent way too much time helping my parents through an often heartless and insensitive system. I loved serving Mom and Dad and being their advocate…but still have a hard time when I recall their heartbreaking journeys and what seemed like the inevitably sad results. In fact, our whole commitment to serving dental patients evolved from doing the exact opposite of what I saw in medicine some 20-25 years ago.

And I’d had an awesome run of great health up until last September when a new hernia sprouted up, hurt like hell, and got me to Kaiser (where I’m not a number, the doctors listen, and I feel safe.) I got a surgical referral the same day and the surgeon manually reduced the hernia on the spot. I was supposed to return a call to schedule the surgery two months out. Spin class and golf were green lights. I was going to Costa Rica. Six months sounded fine to me.

So when I returned to Kaiser a few days ago, I hadn’t eaten or even managed any water in two days, couldn’t keep anything down, and was bloated enough for ongoing acid reflux and hiccups that sometimes lasted up to 30-minutes at a time.

I hadn’t barfed since I quit running the 800 in the 10th grade. And the words “hunger strike”, to me, are easily as oxymoronic as jumbo shrimp or “Bruin Football” or “Trump dignity.”

While I sat out in the waiting room hiccupping like Kermit the Frog on steroids, I thought back to an old family story. Everyone who wasn’t my grandpa loved the story…after some time had passed following a very sad event.

I was a 3-year old future elite athlete/scribe/DDS-type in my own mind. “Jack, how did grandpa die?” Me: “Grandpa died from destruction of the balls.” I always got major laughs. And admittedly, it was a tough way to go.

Grandpa was a 6’4” turn-of-the-century ass-kicking labor union-organizing longshoreman from San Francisco. Funny how little I was; I still see him as a classy, stately, white-haired gentleman (and the old photos verify my memory.) Mom said Grandpa was just about the kindest, gentlest man she’d ever met; he always called her “Sis.”

Of course, Grandpa died of a bowel obstruction. Longshoremen get hernias.

I’m way much better today. And as I’m writing this piece I’m kind of busted-up over how careless, selfish, and thoughtless I was. I’ve really never seen myself like that and it’s not a great visual.

So first off, I apologize to friends, family, co-workers, and patients. You’re the folks I really care about but I sure didn’t show it. And man, I sure did appreciate all the good thoughts, concern, and love. I‘ll never stop thanking you and even though it’s hard work, I’m committing right here to stop being such a jackass.

I’ll be back at Kaiser for repairs on April 8. For a couple of weeks after, my gifted associate dentist, Doc Lee, will be running the show; he’s awesome, you’ll love him…but…hopefully not too much. Two weeks with no driving and then watch out Huntington and recently saved Las Tunas Drives!

Please be more responsible than I was.

And I’ll see ya in spin class!