Operation Dental Drop – Day 1

Note: I don't know why there is a duplicate of this entry but I can't seem to delete it. So...when you get to "Thanks the Lord," that's the end, just skip to the next entry titled "Mr. Sand Man."

Operation Dental Drop - Day 1

We aren’t exactly sure how it is going to happen, but somehow Charley Palmer is getting admitted to the hospital on Friday to have his teeth pulled. Not his wisdom teeth, but several of his teeth. The dental office is calling it a mouth restoration. Brad and I are concocting a plan to have him parachuted in and dropped down into the surgical wing.

From talking with other parents of children with Downs Syndrome, it seems our son is not the only one who has struggled with bad teeth. He’s 19 years old and still has his baby teeth. The plan is to have the baby teeth pulled so his adult teeth will drop down and he will have teeth, or as Charley puts it, he will have “real teeth.”

Today is the day of his pre-op. Oh joy, oh bliss, oh Lord! He’s already mad at us because we picked him up from school. This is not allowed because he likes to be able to point out my car when the bus passes the library.

Charley has informed us that we have interloped. “Daddy, why you uppin’ me at school?”

And Brad says, “We have an appointment.”

Charley says, “No pointment Dad, no uppin’ me again.”

This means I would appreciate it if you would not pick me up at school in the middle of the day, thank you very much, I can ride the bus home all my myself if you please.

We don’t dare tell him where we are going exactly. If I say the word hospital, he might not get out of the car. He doesn’t like the hospital, even for a routine dental visit, so we think it best to let him know on our way there. But once in the parking lot the gig is up.

“What doin’ Dad?”

“We are going to see the Dentist.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s going to see about fixing your teeth,” I say.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

This gets him excited and he runs and attempts to climb over the wall of the ramp.

“Most people walk up the ramp, son,” I say, “See? No one else is climbing the walls.”

“Watch Mom,” he says and flings his leg over the concrete.

“You’re gonna rip your pants son.”

“No not,” he says.

I almost wish it would just to make a point, but no such luck, his pants are still intact.

Once in the waiting room they call Brad to the desk to sign some papers. Charley has to go too so he can give them permission to talk to us on his behalf. He is of legal age now and we have Power of Attorney for him but we have forgotten the papers which are out in the parking lot so the thing to do at the moment is to have him give permission.

Charley starts to cry. “I’m scared Mom,” he says.

“It’ll be okay,” I say and give him a hug. “Just go to the desk with Dad.”

He goes up to the desk and cowers behind Brad. The girl behind the little window asks him if it is okay for her to talk to his Dad on his behalf. He peeks out from behind his Dad and says “yea,” and then comes back to where I’m sitting. I’m busy collecting coke and coffee cups people have left on the tables in the waiting room, and depositing them in to the trash, because Charley has a tendency to want to pick up cups and drink from them even if they aren’t his.

One of the dentists comes out of the back and is walking us over to the next office we need to go which is registration. On the way she tells us that he has to go to two different offices; one for registration and the other to see the Anesthesiologist, and both offices will need to get a blood sample.

As in two times?

Brad and I exchange glances. “Over my dead body,” I say, “Do you honestly think that once they stick him with a needle he’s going to permit it a second time?

Charley has a tendency to run. He always has. If something spooks him, makes him mad, or upsets him, he takes off running, and honey, I can’t run that fast. He usually runs until he gets winded and then the throws up. I assure you, I’d rather crawl naked through broken glass. Most of the time he’s running into the country side on the mountain where we live. But I get a bit worried if he runs when he’s near traffic or parking lots because he doesn’t watch for cars. Try having some sanity when that occurs, I double dare you.

“He’s terrified of needles,” I tell her. It is clear from talking with the dentist that she has no clue as to why I might not want him to have to be stuck twice because she keeps walking and turns her remarks to how nice and sunny it is today, and aren’t we glad the rain has stopped.

Well, now we are in another waiting room. Charley has just come out of the restroom and sits down, gives me a big grin and waves to the baby across the room. He notices the cute girl behind the desk and says, “She’s hot mom.”

“Knock it off son,” I tell him.

“Oopsie!” he says, realizing that his fly is down. “My flier down.” He says struggling with the zipper on his pants and then sits back down on the chair cross-legged Indian style. Then he starts picking at his fingernails. He does this when he is nervous.

I go to the window to ask if it can be arranged to have enough blood drawn in this office and send some to the next office so they will only have to stick him once.

The girl behind the plate glass window tells me to sit down; she’ll call me when she has a moment.

She does not call. I go back to the desk again. She ignores me.

I decide to ask the nurse on our way back to the lab.

She says he does not have to get his blood drawn in their office, and tells me not to worry about it. If I’d had a thousand dollars I’d have given it to her right then.

The dentist comes in and gives Charley a high 5 and then a low 5. He introduces himself as a Dr. Belack. Charley repeats his name, “Dr. Moveback.” There is a medical student with him who looks like he has a board up his back. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone so stiff.

The dentist obviously knows Downs Syndrome people. He begins to ask Charley if he likes policemen.

“I like girls,” Charley says.

“Who’s your favorite musician?” he asks.

“High school musical.” Charley says.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“I like chicken”

The dentist begins the routine questions.”

“Any chest pain?”

“No.”

Coughing? No. Pains in the joints? No..headache, fever, been sick recently? No, no, no to all.

He picks up the light and looks into Charley’s ears.

“Are there any brains in there Doctor?” I ask.

Charley blinks his eyes at me. He does this when he doesn’t like what I’ve said.

“Do you smoke?”

“Yes.” Charley says.

“Only the smoke that comes out his ears,” I say.

Another blink.

The dentist leaves to write up his report.

Charley says, “I’m not leaving with my teeth.”

I tell him we are just getting him prepped for Friday, and they will take his teeth out then.

“No not,” he says.

The dentist says goodbye and shakes Charley’s hand.

Charley says, “I like him,” and then he hugs the medical student.

Now we’re on our way to the office of the Anesthesiologist.

“Welp, I go home now,” he says.

“One more office to go,” I say, and Brad opens the door to our next stop.

“Oh no, this again,” Charley says.

He’s got that right.

I wonder if taking him to three separate offices is a good idea after all. Charley has sunk into a chair and is looking bored. That’s not a bad thing when you have an excitable child. We sit there for about 45 minutes. He sees another cute girl behind the desk and starts moving his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx.

“This is not a pick up joint,” I tell him.

“Stop it Mom,” he says.

Brad and I have worked ourselves into a near meltdown over the anticipation of them drawing blood twice.

We jumped the shark in the last office. No blood drawing there.

The nurse finally ushers us to a room and asks all of the same questions we were asked in the last office.

I tell her Charley is terrified of needles and she says they can wait to draw blood on the day of the surgery and they can sedate him first.

I tell her she is my new best friend.

She asks if there is anything else she can do for us.

“I don’t suppose you have a sucker?” I asked.

“For him?” she points to Charley.

“No, for me.” I say.

It’s been a long day and we are finally on our way home in the car. We decide on ice cream cones to celebrate the no blood thing.

All in all it was a successful day. Day 1 of Operation Dental Drop is complete. I don’t know how we escaped without Charley having his blood drawn, but as Charley puts it, “Thanks the Lord!”



We aren’t exactly sure how it is going to happen, but somehow Charley Palmer is getting admitted to the hospital on Friday to have his teeth pulled. Not his wisdom teeth, but several of his teeth. The dental office is calling it a mouth restoration. Brad and I are concocting a plan to have him parachuted in and dropped down into the surgical wing.

From talking with other parents of children with Downs Syndrome, it seems our son is not the only one who has struggled with bad teeth. He’s 19 years old and still has his baby teeth. The plan is to have the baby teeth pulled so his adult teeth will drop down and he will have teeth, or as Charley puts it, he will have “real teeth.”

Today is the day of his pre-op. Oh joy, oh bliss, oh Lord! He’s already mad at us because we picked him up from school. This is not allowed because he likes to be able to point out my car when the bus passes the library.

Charley has informed us that we have interloped. “Daddy, why you uppin’ me at school?”

And Brad says, “We have an appointment.”

Charley says, “No pointment Dad, no uppin’ me again.”

This means I would appreciate it if you would not pick me up at school in the middle of the day, thank you very much, I can ride the bus home all my myself if you please.

We don’t dare tell him where we are going exactly. If I say the word hospital, he might not get out of the car. He doesn’t like the hospital, even for a routine dental visit, so we think it best to let him know on our way there. But once in the parking lot the gig is up.

“What doin’ Dad?”

“We are going to see the Dentist.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s going to see about fixing your teeth,” I say.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

This gets him excited and he runs and attempts to climb over the wall of the ramp.

“Most people walk up the ramp, son,” I say, “See? No one else is climbing the walls.”

“Watch Mom,” he says and flings his leg over the concrete.

“You’re gonna rip your pants son.”

“No not,” he says.

I almost wish it would just to make a point, but no such luck, his pants are still intact.

Once in the waiting room they call Brad to the desk to sign some papers. Charley has to go too so he can give them permission to talk to us on his behalf. He is of legal age now and we have Power of Attorney for him but we have forgotten the papers which are out in the parking lot so the thing to do at the moment is to have him give permission.

Charley starts to cry. “I’m scared Mom,” he says.

“It’ll be okay,” I say and give him a hug. “Just go to the desk with Dad.”

He goes up to the desk and cowers behind Brad. The girl behind the little window asks him if it is okay for her to talk to his Dad on his behalf. He peeks out from behind his Dad and says “yea,” and then comes back to where I’m sitting. I’m busy collecting coke and coffee cups people have left on the tables in the waiting room, and depositing them in to the trash, because Charley has a tendency to want to pick up cups and drink from them even if they aren’t his.

One of the dentists comes out of the back and is walking us over to the next office we need to go which is registration. On the way she tells us that he has to go to two different offices; one for registration and the other to see the Anesthesiologist, and both offices will need to get a blood sample.

As in two times?

Brad and I exchange glances. “Over my dead body,” I say, “Do you honestly think that once they stick him with a needle he’s going to permit it a second time?

Charley has a tendency to run. He always has. If something spooks him, makes him mad, or upsets him, he takes off running, and honey, I can’t run that fast. He usually runs until he gets winded and then the throws up. I assure you, I’d rather crawl naked through broken glass. Most of the time he’s running into the country side on the mountain where we live. But I get a bit worried if he runs when he’s near traffic or parking lots because he doesn’t watch for cars. Try having some sanity when that occurs, I double dare you.

“He’s terrified of needles,” I tell her. It is clear from talking with the dentist that she has no clue as to why I might not want him to have to be stuck twice because she keeps walking and turns her remarks to how nice and sunny it is today, and aren’t we glad the rain has stopped.

Well, now we are in another waiting room. Charley has just come out of the restroom and sits down, gives me a big grin and waves to the baby across the room. He notices the cute girl behind the desk and says, “She’s hot mom.”

“Knock it off son,” I tell him.

“Oopsie!” he says, realizing that his fly is down. “My flier down.” He says struggling with the zipper on his pants and then sits back down on the chair cross-legged Indian style. Then he starts picking at his fingernails. He does this when he is nervous.

I go to the window to ask if it can be arranged to have enough blood drawn in this office and send some to the next office so they will only have to stick him once.

The girl behind the plate glass window tells me to sit down; she’ll call me when she has a moment.

She does not call. I go back to the desk again. She ignores me.

I decide to ask the nurse on our way back to the lab.

She says he does not have to get his blood drawn in their office, and tells me not to worry about it. If I’d had a thousand dollars I’d have given it to her right then.

The dentist comes in and gives Charley a high 5 and then a low 5. He introduces himself as a Dr. Belack. Charley repeats his name, “Dr. Moveback.” There is a medical student with him who looks like he has a board up his back. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone so stiff.

The dentist obviously knows Downs Syndrome people. He begins to ask Charley if he likes policemen.

“I like girls,” Charley says.

“Who’s your favorite musician?” he asks.

“High school musical.” Charley says.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“I like chicken”

The dentist begins the routine questions.”

“Any chest pain?”

“No.”

Coughing? No. Pains in the joints? No..headache, fever, been sick recently? No, no, no to all.

He picks up the light and looks into Charley’s ears.

“Are there any brains in there Doctor?” I ask.

Charley blinks his eyes at me. He does this when he doesn’t like what I’ve said.

“Do you smoke?”

“Yes.” Charley says.

“Only the smoke that comes out his ears,” I say.

Another blink.

The dentist leaves to write up his report.

Charley says, “I’m not leaving with my teeth.”

I tell him we are just getting him prepped for Friday, and they will take his teeth out then.

“No not,” he says.

The dentist says goodbye and shakes Charley’s hand.

Charley says, “I like him,” and then he hugs the medical student.

Now we’re on our way to the office of the Anesthesiologist.

“Welp, I go home now,” he says.

“One more office to go,” I say, and Brad opens the door to our next stop.

“Oh no, this again,” Charley says.

He’s got that right.

I wonder if taking him to three separate offices is a good idea after all. Charley has sunk into a chair and is looking bored. That’s not a bad thing when you have an excitable child. He sees another cute girl behind the desk and starts moving his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx.

“This is not a pick up joint,” I tell him.

“Stop it Mom,” he says.

Brad and I have worked ourselves into a near meltdown over the anticipation of them drawing blood twice.

We jumped the shark in the last office. No blood drawing there.

Finally, after about 45 minutes the nurse ushers us to a room and asks all of the same questions we were asked in the last office.

I tell her Charley is terrified of needles and she says they can wait to draw blood on the day of the surgery and they can sedate him first.

I tell her she is my new best friend.

She asks if there is anything else she can do for us.

“I don’t suppose you have a sucker?” I asked.

“For him?” she points to Charley.

“No, for me.” I say.

It’s been a long day and we are finally on our way home in the car. We decide on ice cream cones to celebrate the no blood thing.

All in all it was a successful day. Day 1 of Operation Dental Drop is complete. Mission accomplished. I don’t know how we escaped without Charley having his blood drawn, but as Charley puts it, “Thanks the Lord!”