This morning I spent an uncomfortable hour in the hands of a dental surgeon, then drove to a different dentst where I spent another hour and now I am at home with Advil and icepacks and amoxicillin and I have just eaten sipped a dinner of soup.

When I was CVS picking up my Rx, the pharmacist, a young woman, had a charming accent and wore a nametag that said OKSANA.  I bit my tongue to keep from asking her if she had ever met with the Russia ambassador.

(No, I didn't. I bit my tongue because my mouth was so full of Novacain that I didn't know where my tongue was.)

But I not feeling sorry for myself. At my age...80 in 3 weeks...I am fortunate to be very healthy, very active, with my brain intact. And that my dentist is not named Dr. DeSoto. (How many people will get that reference?)

As I sit here with the TV on, watching political news and thinking about dentistry, I am reminded of the days when my father was Chief of Dental Services at Walter Reed Hospital and had some presidential and vice-presidental people as patients...and was given a private phone number at one point, and told by the FBI that he should burn it after he made the phone call.  My dad, who had a wry sense of humor, said he asked the agent: "Should I eat the ashes?" but the FBI guy was not amused.