Do It Myself Blog – Glenda Watson Hyatt

Yesterday was my first appointment with the new dentist. Being a beautiful day, we decided to wheel the approximate 20 blocks, each way. We will be hibernating soon enough.

There was a little "not talking to me" by the receptionist. With television psychologist Dr. Phil’s “You teach people how to treat you” ringing in my ear, we nipped that in the bud. Appropriately training them from Day One is the best strategy.

My concerned husband hollered “She has her iPad with her if she needs to communicate” as I headed down the hall with the hygienist. (Concerned because, after thirteen years of marriage, he knows he is in for an earful from his non-verbal wife if anybody dares not treat her as capable and intelligent.)

In that moment, I realized I don’t go anywhere, literally, without my scooter. I (almost) always carry straws with me. But, my iPad is not yet permanently attached to me. I am getting better at taking the gadget with me when I go out, but it still requires conscious remembering.

I also learned a valuable lesson as a new assistive and augmented communication (AAC) user: needing to fetch the thing from my scooter basket and turning it on before continuing the conversation is not being prepared enough for communication. Having my iPad on and ready to go indicates to other that I am ready and able to communicate.

And, use my iPad to communicate I did, for the first time, with a dentist.

The bottom line: one broken molar needs a filling, which he will attempt to do in the office next Monday. If he runs into a problem, he will call the College of Dental Surgeons for suggestions. I can not ask for more of that.

The other molar, which had a root canal done several years ago, will not fare as well: too broken to attempt saving, it needs to be pulled and the dentist is reluctant to attempt that one. I have a consultation with a oral surgeon next Tuesday; the consult is not covered by Ministry. If necessary, he can sedate in office. We will find out on Tuesday whether sedation is covered; strangely, full hospitalization is covered by Ministry,  but I really would like to avoid that, if possible.

Depending upon how Monday’s appointment goes, I am very tempted to switch dentists permanently. I was pleased at how he interacted and communicated with me. That makes all of the difference!

A quick update on my dental dilemma…finding a suitable dentist involves dealing with three accessibility requirements:

1. Physical access: Can I get to the dentist office, preferably without spending half a day on public transit? Can I get to the dentist chair? Needing to park my scooter and walk 8 feet to the chair does not count as accessible (for me); for others, it might pass.
2. Staff attitudes: A dentist and staff who communicates directly with me and can work around my jerky cerebral palsy are essential.
3. Directly bill the Ministry: Surprisingly (or not) many dental practices do not directly bill the Ministry, which is an obstacle for those of us on social assistance. The mere thought of attempting to be reimbursed after paying myself sends me shivers up my spine. (I’d love to hear from others who have succeeded and how they did it.)

A big thank you to my persistent virtual assistant Lori-ann for making umpteen phone calls. I now have an appointment at the Riverside Heights Dental Group – which appears to meet all three requirements – next Wednesday at 11:15am.

Fingers crossed!

Recently I discovered a quite acceptable alternative to my favourite beverage, an iced mocha: chocolate-covered coffee beans! Popping a few of those yummies in my mouth was way easier than going out for a cold beverage. They were on the verge of becoming addictive until…

I bit into one that seemed as hard as a rock. It felt like a jagged piece scratched my gum, which I was aware of when I ate but I didn’t think any more of it.

A few days later the apparent scratch was still bugging me. I stuck in a finger to feel for the scratch and, much to my surprise, a tooth wiggled like a loose tooth. Huh? I didn’t dare try again to confirm in case I caused more damage. But, I had a sinking, panicky feeling that I had cracked or broken my back molar. Up until now, most of my dental work in my thirty-fifteen years has been done in hospital under general anaesthesia – an experience I have absolutely no desire of reliving.

Monday morning Darrell called the wheelchair repair guy to cancel the pick-up of his power wheelchair and put the repairs on hold for another week. We had to get to the dentist and couldn’t wait around for the guy to show up.

Thankfully the 5 centimetres of snow had not materialized overnight and, except for wishing power chairs came with onboard heaters, we made it to the dentist without incident.

After poking around in my mouth, the dentist, without saying a word to me, went out to Darrell to deliver the news. After living this game for 45 years, I should be used to people, particularly medical professionals, not speaking directly to me. But, it still hurts, still stings. I was on the verge of tears.

Just because you don’t understand me (due to a lack of even trying) does not mean I do not understand you. Speak directly to me, especially when it concerns me and my health.

I called for Darrell and we quickly corrected the dentist’s uncertainty of me being able to understand him.

The verdict, after four x-rays, which is not easy with shaky cerebral palsy and an over active gag reflex: one broken tooth and one cracked tooth. He was able to remove the broken hunk. Now I need that tooth crowned or extracted, and the other tooth filled or crowned. The Ministry does not cover crowns, of course.

i now need to find a dentist who can do the work in the office; again, tricky with athetoid cerebral palsy. Otherwise I face a hospitalization, which I really want to avoid if at all possible. I am all for facing one’s fears, but some are meant to be left alone and, based on previous experiences, being in hospital can be left in my distant past.

I have learned to stick with my coffee in cold, liquid form. It is less expensive and less terrifying that way.

With the rest of the technologically innovative world, I am saddened by the passing, today, of Steve Jobs due to pancreatic cancer.

Damn cancer.

I have written many posts on how the iPad changed my life in a relatively short time; on how the iPad gave me an affordable, acceptable and cool communication device and how that has further opened the world and opportunities to me.

But one intended post I didn’t write – partly because I didn’t know how to express my sentiments and partly because I thought I still had time – was a thank you to Steve Jobs for his innovative vision and to the Apple Development Team for turning his vision into reality. 

Steve, your iPad gave me something that no other device has: a way to communicate with those who are not familiar with my unique accent Glenda-ish. I cannot find the words to express how grateful I am for that; something which others may brush off as insignificant, but, for me, is a life changer and hugely contributes to my independence.

And, I am not the only life you have changed with the iPad and other Apple devices. Because you were visionary enough to include accessibility in the product development phase, rather than as an afterthought, many people with disabilities have benefitted and have had their life changed.

For this, I thank you, a little too late. I just hope you knew, somehow, before today.

Thank you for your vision, for living your passion and for changing the world in the ways you did.

You will be missed.

(Please excuse any typos or other errors. Typing through tears  is difficult.)

While responding to a message in Facebook from a friend, a text chat message popped up:

“hi auntie glenda”

Auntie who? Oh, right, that’s me!

The message was from one of my young nieces now on Facebook. While we chatted about going camping, roasting marshmallows and shopping for makeup, I realized this was the first conversation I had had with my niece.

Every other time we’ve been together, which I can count on one hand with a couple of digits leftover (the tough part of having family spread out across Western Canada), a third person was needed to translate Glenda-ish for when I did say anything, which was typically little.

She and I now have a way to develop a connection and be “auntie and niece”. The most impressive aspect – and for which I am thankful – was she initiated the chat herself. A high water moment ensued while typing.

Auntie Glenda needs to brush up on near-teen conversation topics so as to no come across like she is playing Twenty Questions.