Salvage a smile.

Published Meath Chronicle 28th January 2015.

Some of the worst things in life had happened to him between those sweaty walls. But like the others he kept returning. Every time he entered their veiled faces acknowledged him, at once promising everything yet always disappointing, each one reflected the others dull failures until today was yesterday and yesterday could have been tomorrow.

This morning, the bar was different; a new drinker with a bag at his feet, propped up the woodwork surrounded by the usual posse.  There were two ways you could ingratiate yourself with the early boozers - court them with tales of drunkenness or buy your way in. Given the early hour he decided this guy was a high-roller and that meant free drink. He ordered a scotch and started on the periphery to worm his way in.

Far off, the man appeared well dressed but now up close the blue suit had seen better days. The sleeves were threadbare and the shiny patches on the trousers reminded him of our brittle Irish sea. Mulling the thought along with his third whiskey, he returned to the action. “So, what do you do mate?” the local interrogated the stranger.

The pained expression spoke volumes. But it was already too late, he´d opened a can the morning crew knew only too well - the well-paid job, the fancy car, the private schools, then the crisis and after, redundancy, banks, bankruptcy and divorce. By the time the man had finished his dirge, the other drinkers had drifted off and now they were only two. Guilt at the question and no money, the local stayed put. “What´ll ye have mucker”, the new boy chirped up having now unburdened himself.

He rummaged and pulled out a last crumpled note. Unable to hide his disappointment the local lashed down his juice while the suit smiled and slurred, “In reality, all I have left of any value are these” pointing to his teeth and smiling broadly. So perfect and white were they Michelangelo could have carved them from Italian marble. “Jaysus mate, with teeth like that you should smile more often!” They both laughed until the drink was gone.

“If ye want more drink follow me mucker”, the visitor picked up his bag and they left. It was bright and clear outside. “Where are we headed?” the local staggered in the wake of a man on a mission. He ignored the questions until they were deep in the estate. “We´re on a salvage job”, said the suit, finally stopping outside a smart, detached house. Before the next question he´d jimmied the door and walked in. “But isn´t this illegal?” he stuttered as the stranger closed the door and then proceeded to take a crowbar and shiny hammer from his satchel.

With surgical precision he sliced and tore up the entrance wall exposing the wiring then neatly extracted it from the connections. Together they pulled it out and bunched it up. From room to room, they team-worked until the bag was full of balled-up copper wire. When they´d finished in the attic the local finally broke his silence, “This scrap will buy us a load of drink mate but don´t you feel bad for the owner?”

“No, mucker”, replied the suit, “This is my house”, and he gave his new friend that perfect white smile.    

Dr Don Mac Auley.

Toothache.

Published Meath Chronicle 21st October 2014.

He switched on the bedside lamp, the clock beamed 5.22am. It was now seven minutes since the man had become acquainted with his pain, yet he still didn´t know it. His thoughts flustered over damp floorboards, the warm air forcing him outside. A streetlamp puddled rainy light upon the stairs, the bannister led down, down until he landed in the kitchen. With the first mouthful of whisky the discomfort eased and suddenly he became aware of its absence.

As the storm abated he now felt alive and tingling like an electric fence. In the toaster´s reflection he drew back his lips to see canines project from a cloud of tartar, rattling each molar without joy, the gum looked red but that could be the light and anyway his tongue had already failed to find any cavities. He finished the glass and took off again.

At the door, the queasiness returned. Square miles of waves began to roll and pitch their heaped suffering upon his lower jaw; the pain swept him back to the table. Gently cradling his head, he popped pill after bitter pill, drowning each one in alcohol. He waited for the miraculous transition but it never came. Chaos and treachery reigned. The gates of misery opened and so started a slow, monotonous descent to hell; the man dug his nails in. Then he made himself small to resist the pain however it multiplied quickly, extending its territory until throbbing radiated from above the temple all the way down his neck.

With his head flat on the table between two bags of frozen peas, he tried to stop the advance. Contorted and gasping, he struggled again for clarity. At 6.38am, the analgesic Cavalry arrived. He welcomed them, whooping and chuckling as the pain receded but he could soon tell by their poor equipment and lack of numbers that the relief wouldn´t last long; the man grabbed the phone and dialled her number.

He heard himself imploring repeatedly “Hello? Hello? Hello?” even before she´d answered. “What do YOU want” she finally responded recognising his voice “Do you know what time it is?” “You´ve got to help me, I´m in agony…please…” She cut him off, “We´ve been through this a million times”. “But, you don´t understand, my tooth is killing me, I can´t stand it any…” Before he could finish the sentence she´d hung up. When he rang back he got a high-pitched melancholic drone that penetrated his ear, down his jaw and the ache stirred again.

Back in the bedroom, it grew worse. The dentist would be open in two hours but the man knew how he´d react from painful experience, “Don´t be a coward, man, it´s only an abscess. If you can stand a small injection we´ll take it out for God´s sake”. He could see it all clearly now, he had entered a new state, the agony had revealed his reality – he was weak and completely alone.

After that, the pills didn´t taste so bitter.

Dr Don Mac Auley.

Spinning a jig.

Published Meath Chronicle 23th April 2014.

If, in public, you´re used to flipping your nipper bottom-up to sniff his latest offering or your “wheels on the bus go round and round" all the aisles of the local supermarket then you could be accused of baby bliss; that complete lack of self-awareness parents wear with such ease, as if your little one had infected you at birth. And often to reach out to him you too regress to being an infant, squeaking, gurgling, thrumming and fee-fi-fo-fumming. You develop your act, first in private, on the bed or sofa until you take it on the road. Before you know it you´re just another street act, with a captivated audience of one. One that will smile and laugh while others whisper and stare.

But don´t take your unique fan for granted as research now shows that even newborns, despite their unfocused eyes and lack of coordination, have built in body awareness and can even learn in their sleep.

At the University of London researchers showed that when healthy newborns were shown a video of another baby´s face being stroked by a soft brush, at the same time as their own face was stroked by a similar brush they showed interest. When the video was played upside-down or the stroking was time delayed, the newborns were less interested. They concluded young babies have the ability to differentiate themselves from others - when what babies see in relation to their own bodies matches what they feel they can empathise just as adults do. Another study looked at sleeping infants just 1-2 days old. Scientists played a musical tone followed by a puff of air to their eyes 200 times over the course of a half-hour. Rapidly, the newborns learned to anticipate the puff of air upon hearing the tone by tightening up their eyelids.

So what does this mean for your distracting performances? Well, you´ll have to find new material, better routines and like every entertainer gauge the audience´s reaction, as unpredictable as it may be. For example, the other day I thought I´d brighten up the baby´s mood by showing him his reflection in the mirror; it had always worked with the dog who barked and threw mid-air tilts. At first, the baby really stared as if he didn´t recognise himself, then he put his hand up to his chin like an auld boy rubbing stubble between chubby fingers. Still looking in the mirror he wasn´t rubbing, I realised he was cleaning. The rediscovered carrot was off his chin and in his mouth before I could scrape my own chin off the floor. He gave me one of his big, thoroughly entertained smiles.

“Hey diddle diddle” seemed hollow after such a humbling experience. Like half of Ireland I had the DVD somewhere so I´d have to dig it out. Twenty years was a long time ago, worn legs and tired shoes, but it would really blow him away. It may also explain why you see your dentist jigging his Riverdance between the aisles in Tescos!

Dr Don Mac Auley.

Raising fears.

Published in Meath Chronicle Tuesday 23rd july 2013.


They´d been shouting in whispers all morning, her younger brother hadn´t noticed. Yesterday´s clothes gave off a musty odour adding to her tiredness while downstairs the parents batted looks of scorn over cereal bowls as she umpired their silence.  Still unaware of the game she hoped things would improve when Dad finished his coffee and left for work.

They didn´t; the car was tense. Finally, switched on to the situation, her brother resorted to needy mode. He suddenly became useless, fiddling with his seatbelt and complaining his shoes hurt. Up front the mother crunched through the gears and the traffic. The girl undid her own seatbelt to loosen her brother´s shoelaces and make sure his belt was secure. “Your father won´t be collecting you after school today”, the mother declared as she huffed before another red light, “I will”.

Distracted and tapping the steering wheel, “You know every night when we brush our teeth. Well today, you´re going to visit the man who makes sure your teeth are okay. He´s called the dentist” she hissed the final syllable, a screech of tyres ending all discussion.

Her girlfriends shared their dentist stories during break. Most were positive so she felt better when her mother returned at home time. Her brother was already in the car with his tired, hungry face. They parked up and the little boy was deposited roughly in his buggy. The mother was oblivious to the tears that streamed down his hot cheeks so the girl grabbed his hand and squeezed, wishing she too was somewhere else.

In the waiting room, they waited their turn. The mother tore sweaty fingers through countless magazines, reading none of them. When a smiling lady opened the door and called the girl´s name, she jumped up from the sofa, tripping over herself with excitement, and fell hard on her knee. The mother rushed to her rescue. “You´re okay, darling. Don´t worry it´s only a scratch, it´s fine”, she reassured rubbing the fresh bruise.

The mother looked up at the nurse and her caring expression evaporated. She shrank back; returning to the magazines where the toddler recorded everything through half closed eyes. Despite the storm of confusion brimming in her brain, the girl took the nurse´s hand and left her mother, her brother and the waiting room. She repeated the nurse´s words over in her head, “such a brave girl”, “such a brave girl”.

“What´s your name?” asked the dentist giving her a big smile as she jumped up on the chair. “It´s your first time with us but where are your parents?” “They´re scared of the dentist”, she replied in that honest way kids only know. “They had a row this morning because my dad didn´t want to bring us. My mam is too nervous to come in and my younger brother´s pretending to be asleep…But I´m not scared, I´m here for my check-up”. And she opened her nearly four-year-old mouth as wide as she could.

What´s in a smile?

Published in Meath Chronicle 28/12/2012

His head tilted, the guitarist tickled the strings and the other clapped, chirped and warbled. They slowed as a small girl strode into the arena wearing a tight, colourful dress. A staccato of feet and she commanded the stage and the viewers' attention. Her hair was oiled and scraped back, face locked in concentration, she battered the boards. Thrusting her hips forward; spinning, scolding, then inviting. We feared the wooden platform would give way under the dancer´s energy but it held firm as she hovered in a display that defied gravity. We too, were sweating when she threw her arms into the air and her features finally relaxed into a broad grin. We took to our feet, smiling back among roars of applause.

A flamenco show, a whispered joke, a warm embrace, the emotion seethes to our brain tickling the left anterior temporal region which fires impulses to our face where two muscles stir into action. The zygomatic major which lies along the cheek pulls our lips upwards and the orbicularis oculi muscle encircling the eye socket lifts our brows and squeezes the corners of our eyes. The entire process lasts between one and four seconds.

Other muscles can mimic a smile but only this intimate tango produces the expression known as a “Duchenne smile”. Named after the French anatomist Guillaume Duchenne, it is an indicator of positive emotion. He honed his theories in the nineteenth century by shocking the heads of executed criminals. Although a smile can reflect various emotions, including embarrassment, deceit, and grief, Duchenne noted that the eyes held the secret to expressing true joy.

Guillaume Duchenne, anatomist & neurologist (1806-1875)

Since then, our understanding of the smile has raised more eyebrows. We now know that the intensity of a grin can predict marital and personal happiness, and maybe even how long we´ll live. The saying that “a smile is a window to the soul” rings true for researchers at the University of California who analysed the college yearbook photos of women. They followed their personal lives for the next 30 years and discovered those women who had more Duchenne-like expressions in their photo at 21 years old also had higher levels of wellbeing and marital satisfaction at 52. Another study that rated the smiles of baseball players from photos taken in1952 concluded that those with positive smiles were half as likely to have died that those who didn´t.

Mental health experts have also noticed that wherever positive emotions go, "Duchenne" smiles follow. Patients with depression displayed such smiles more on release interviews than during their admissions; the patient´s smiling also increased throughout therapy as their condition improved.

The universality of smiling and that we begin so young has lead to the conclusion that this particular human expression has more to do with evolution than culture. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that newborns can accurately display and interpret facial expressions. At just 10 months, for instance, an infant will offer a false smile to a stranger while reserving a genuine, "Duchenne" smile for its mother. Other studies showed that when mothers faked depression, infants shook their tiny fists in distress while after just 3 minutes of smile-free interaction they became withdrawn.

Infants as young as 10 months know the value of a smile.

Science has identified possible reasons why we find a smile attractive. MRI scans of subjects viewing pretty faces have shown activity in the part of the brain that produces sensory rewards. The activity increased when a smile was added to the mix. So, not only, does a smile make us more attractive to others it helps us feel better about ourselves. So this holiday Navan Dental hopes you´ll all be smiling and remember the words of Louis Armstrong, “the whole world smiles with you”.

The Beautiful Game.

Published in Meath Chronicle 27/11/2012

Recently, a dentist who´d worked with Navan Dental for several years handed in his notice by leaving a message on my answer machine. At least, he didn´t tweet it or post a message on Facebook. When asked later why he had decided to leave, he answered, “this is simply business, it´s nothing personal”. The same person could not understand why staff members were so upset when they found out the news.

The reality is that business and work are personal. If you work an eight-hour day you physically spend more waking time with your work colleagues than your partner. A busy dental practice is like a football match but each half lasts four hours instead of 45 minutes. The dentists may be strikers however without the defenders and goalie they´d never see the ball. As social creatures we rely on the help and friendship of others. From our family nests we soon spread our wings and learn to fly with others of our own age: helping, trusting and sharing the challenges and fun of life.  Growing up we develop the social skills to become team players.

The reaction of the dentist in question reminds me of my childhood days when a new kid showed up on the block to play football with us. We welcomed him into the gang but it became obvious he hadn´t much experience of playing in a team. He wanted to hold the ball and dribble a bit but there was little time for such carry-on in a tight five-a-side game where one-touch and pass not only honed your skills, it also saved your ankles. When he showed up again the following day he brought with him a shiny-new, leather football. Our mouths hung open at its perfect roundness, up until then we had been playing with what can best be described as a semi-inflated naan bread which required pumping every ten minutes.

We took turns setting up free-kicks, bending the ball around a wall of eager youngsters and it worked; it was just like Match of the Day. Next, the newcomer showed his prowess at keepy-uppies but we were so fired up to get on with the game we paid him little attention. Bouncy and unpredictable, the pace of the game was electric and having less time on the ball, the competition grew intense and exciting. Verbal communication dwindled, it became unnecessary, we knew our weaknesses and strengths, we knew what we could do and we knew each other. Except our new mate whose impatience knew better, he snatched up the ball and roared, “it´s nothing personal, but this isn´t football”. He took his ball and stormed off home. Meanwhile, we re-inflated our naan ball and started the game again. Later we clubbed together our pocket-money and bought a new ball. Today, we still remain dedicated to a great team; in my opinion, the best.

Dr. Don Mac Auley  -  navandental.ie