Another number.

The moon still hung pale over the Lake. It sneered a little then seemed to glow stronger as the snow came down in sheets. The car was slow to start: it gasped and coughed until the engine finally spluttered into life. The driver was tired and very late. He´d never wanted to leave the house but he felt obliged, obliged to be another number in a queue doomed to finish back here in the end.

New snow upon old ice! It cloaked and choked the country road, blurring the ditches and leveling the dips. The bends straightened and where they´d found old Pat dead in his overturned wreck the year before, he braked too hard and lost control.  Clutching desperately, the engine dampened and the tyres took off, they whizzed for a second then floated across the whiteness.  Time slowed; he let go.  And silently the car slid sideways down the road in the stillness of a winter morning.

He didn´t panic, moon – hedge – T-junction – hedge, he simply closed his eyes until the music then thoughts came in steady succession. “Who will buy my sweet red roses? Two blooms for a penny, a wonderful morning. You love Oliver but what was that actor´s name, the one who played Fagin? He reminds you of your Dad, dancing, singing and always smiling. How you miss those long walks on the farm, wellies disappearing in his huge footprints. Will your son think of you in the same way when you´re gone…”

His head was a hive of arcane activity, he whispered to himself as the car spun on. “Shit, you forgot the telephone bill; herself won´t be happy. Nor will she be happy when she hears about this tumour under your tongue. It doesn´t hurt but you should have told her, she´s already suspicious of these early starts and sure anyway, you´ll have to come clean in the end. Or with any luck, this will be the end.” He stopped.

The car had too, the motor cut, it now pointed back in the direction of home.  He gathered himself, removed the wool cap and mopped the sweat from his brow. Relentlessly, the snow fell still in the immense silence of space. And after a moment´s consideration, he started up again, turned the car around and continued into town.

The waiting room was busy with numbers. Knowing looks and long names isolated the professionals from the non-infectious, gloves and masks from their ulcers and lumps.  There was no explanation when he opened wide his mouth, nor when the surgeon pulled his tongue first this way, then that. Few courtesies as the painless ulcer was measured and catalogued and little poetry as the expert felt excitedly for that hard swelling beneath his chin.

Old ice and new snow, he mused, “you´ll tell her this evening so”.

Dr D. Mac Auley.

Published Meath Chronicle 27/03/2013.

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.

Swings First.

Published Meath Chronicle 18/02/2014.

Becoming a father for the first time is a joyful, emotional, if shocking prospect. His eyes blinking against the bright hospital lights, your brain too searched its deepest recesses for this shiny face that stared back, one as helpless as the other. The shock passes slowly. But the first months fly by. Then one day he wants to sit up. He likes to watch the fire, the lamps and next he tries to stand. Up until this point you think you have it sorted.  If he can walk then he´ll be able to run. Down the park danger lurked everywhere – bikes, dogs, cars, your mind boggled and soon enough you feared for his future safety under a cloud of overprotection.

Now was the time to take a trip down the memory lane of my own childhood.  We would all like our youngsters to have that same carefree, happy time, as I did, playing outside in a gang of kids. Unfortunately, more and more children are finding their childhood stolen.  And the culprit is, like mine, parents´ fears. Recently, a class of eight to nine year olds was asked to describe happiness and one replied, ‘‘Happiness is being able to pay the mortgage.” Now that answer didn’t originate in the playground. The reality is kids are spending too long indoors with adults and not enough time outside with their peers.

Instead, recreation is now locked up in a home flush with gadgets. Excused as educational devices, televisions and computers become their convenient window on the world where, with less monitoring, our children make their first decisions alone. Changing the channel or surfing the web, there is no democracy of the gang and there is no social or sharing experience. We are creating a generation of individuals, mere fodder for advertisers who ruthlessly exploit them for profit. So you can’t really blame kids for wanting more stuff. And when refused we find we´re breeding resentment, not the well-adjusted offspring we hoped for.

But at least inside they are safe, I hear you cry. Safe from what? The bombardment of hungry corporations, the violence of negligent TV programmers or the obesity of inactive lifestyles; take your pick. In the 1970s, Northern Ireland wasn’t exactly the safest place on the planet yet we played outside from dawn until dusk. We heard bombs, we were aware of the dangers but it didn’t rule our lives or our parents’ every waking moment.

It is, however, silly to argue that nothing has changed since then or that nothing changes for the worse. Still we passively accept the hype and fear thrust upon us, forcing decisions that are not in our children’s best interests. We also share little or no responsibility for this unsatisfactory situation and often make the mistake of concluding that everything outside must be bad. Alternatively, we could question the world around us with more interest. We could take stock of the past and place trust in our children giving them more time together on their own terms.

I thought, we´ll start with the swings then maybe the slide. He looked chuffed.

Dr. Don Mac Auley.

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Fluoride in our water - The controversy.

Published in Meath Chronicle 22/10/2013

We drink it every day without a moment´s thought but the Irish state has been dosing our tap water with chemical fluoride for decades.  Back in the 1960s, some scientists believed that by adding fluoride to drinking water they could reduce tooth decay. However, there is a growing controversy that this medication of the Irish population, whether we want it or not, is outdated and dangerous. After all fluoride is a toxic substance, found in rat poison and pesticides. The Food and Drug Administration recognised its toxicity in 1997 when it required by law that all fluoride toothpastes in the United States carry a poison warning – "If you accidentally swallow more than used for brushing, seek professional help or contact a poison control center immediately".

Government dentists contend that the levels of fluoride in our drinking water are so low that there is no risk of poisoning. But how do you control such levels when you are prescribing a medicine by thirst? Before I prescribe a medication for a patient, I know the patient's age, their medical history, and whether they have an allergy or not. All this information is taken into consideration before writing a prescription. In water fluoridation, you know nothing about the patient, whether they are taking other drugs, nor if there is an underlying medical condition, and very importantly, you´ve no idea whether that individual is allergic to fluoride or not.

In fact, not only do the government not know this information, they don´t care! Section 6 of the Health Act 1960 that allows fluoride in our water also required successive health ministers to carry out health studies. In nearly fifty years, not one study has been completed. In light of the scientific controversy linking water fluoridation to serious health conditions such as bone cancer, hip fracture, irritable bowel syndrome and decreased IQ in children, Micheál Martin set up the Fluoridation Forum in 2000. Unfortunately, it was a wasted opportunity made up with the same government dentists who have built their careers on fluoride. The only positive aspect was the involvement of the Food Safety Authority of Ireland (FSAI) who studied the fluoride intake of bottle-feeding infants. Due to their small body weight, infants consuming tap water in their feeds were receiving up to seven times the safe limit for fluoride; and even more shockingly 200 times the levels found in breast milk.

The FSAI concluded, “the precautionary principle should apply and recommends that infant formula should not be reconstituted with fluoridated tap water”. This was the end of fluoridation in Ireland; either breastfeed or buy bottled water to feed your newborns, the prescription by thirst would be fluoride´s final downfall. But the report never saw the light of day. Realising the significance for fluoridation, the government forum buried the report. And next year, the same government will fix meters to our taps, they will expect us to pay to be poisoned by fluoride, as if we haven´t paid enough over the last 49 years.

Dr. Don Mac Auley.

Total recall.

Published in Meath Chronicle Tuesday 27th August 2013.

There was no respite all morning. Only a child remained before lunch, a loose milk tooth that must be numb by now.  The kid hopped in the chair and with his father sat opposite, the dentist searched for the offender.  They usually fall out on their own, he thought, but this one had stubbornly hung on – disrupting sleep and breaking habits. The dentist stroked his glove over tiny teeth, the child´s bruised tongue leading the way until he felt the culprit fidget between his fingers. Hesitating, he looked up at the child´s father, his familiar expression and the sharp edge of the baby tooth sent a shudder through him.

The dentist´s stress and hunger left him, an exquisite warmth rose in his stomach. Suddenly joyful, he saw himself reflected in the child´s eyes. Time became invisible; he felt the wobbly tooth with his own tongue, the ease of its movement back and forward as he rubbed its rough under-surface, a metallic taste filled his mouth and he looked up into his own father´s soft, hazel eyes, knowing this man would always love him and never do him harm.

He was calm watching his father deftly make a loop in the black thread, stout fingers working their magic, explaining as he went, “a loose tooth is like having a stone in your shoe, son, you can shift your weight or wiggle your toes but at some point you´ll have to take off your shoe and remove it” and with that he handed over the noose which the son placed around the tooth. The father gave him the end of the thread and watched intently. The boy never flinched under those caring eyes, the tooth was out and the father threw him proudly upon his shoulders so he was taller than himself.

The dentist recovered. Smiling at the little boy in the dental chair, he popped the milk tooth in an envelope. The father gave his son a big thumbs-up as he jumped off in delight.  “Didn´t I tell you wouldn´t feel a thing”, he beamed, “I´ve been coming here for years, he´s the best dentist”. “Look, look Daddy, for the tooth fairy”, he held up the packet and then tugging at his father´s coat, “Daddy, Daddy, I want to be a dentist when I grow up”. “Well son, not everyone can be a dentist, you´ll have to study hard at school”, he patted his son on the back and they headed for reception. 

But the dentist had broken his contract with habit. Now, he would have to rebuild it all, recall a difficult youth, suffer his father´s death, escape the North, treat an infinite number of patients and learn his trade. Until then, he would return to the surgery riding upon those strong shoulders, sob some and think to himself - you need a lot more than hard study to be a dentist.

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.

The thin veneer

Published Meath Chronicle 26/06/2013

After all these years, the receptionist watched the dentist finally sign the papers. She whisked them up, packed them into an oversized envelope and presented it back to him. He threw her a tight-lipped smile and headed for the post. As the glass shuddered after him, she recalled those signs from her college days in London, grubby signs hung in hotels and guest house windows, often hand scribbled yet still carved in her heart.

Heavy clouds hovered overhead, the air was saturated. A few hardy types well insulated against the elements led the way. Mid-morning breaks never used to be a reality but since the bubble burst he had time on his hands, too much time. Scurrying past the shopping centre he clutched the envelope as if his future depended on it. At least the older clients hadn´t abandoned him. Yet he still felt a little embarrassed when they enquired about business. He didn´t enjoy lying to them, nor to his family for that matter, however the signs were there – flaking paint on the exterior, the patched-up equipment and same-day appointments always available. Most knew his prices hadn´t budged in years; those that complained weren´t sent reminders. After all, he was an experienced dentist and deserved every penny he could wring out of them.

The queue at the post office was moving well until the waves of doubt rolled in again. Suddenly, he felt like an old cloth, once useful but now scrunched up and discarded to dry and wither in some window where one day, if someone should find and try and open him up, he would simply crumble to dust. “Was this envelope the answer to his troubles?” The question still hung on the line when a retired colleague interrupted his thought convention. This good old boy was in great form, having sold up before the crisis, he praised his friend for holding out.  Heads turned as the old-timer worked himself into a lather of criticism against other dentists in town who had dropped their prices, practically foaming at the mouth on the subject of websites and patients shopping around.  “That never happened in our day, eh? If they didn´t like it they went up North, now the Northerners are down here!”

Distracted by the commotion, he didn´t realise he was now hiding the envelope behind his back. Until the old boy spotted it, “What have you got there?” The other retreated, his face reddening with every step towards the door. “Hey, where are you going…and why aren´t you working this morning?” the sentiment squeezed him into the street. He ran for it. 

The receptionist saw him coming. Her heart sank at the sight of the envelope containing the application forms. Those signs from her youth came flooding back – "No Blacks, no Dogs, no Irish". She trembled as she touched her own envelope deep in her tunic´s pocket. Resignation or overreaction, thoughts of family kept it hidden.  The dentist stormed in, refusing to look her in the eye, he casually straightened his sign in the window, it read – NO MEDICAL CARDS.

Dr. Don Mac Auley.

First Impressions.

Published Meath Chronicle 23/04/2013.

At Navan Dental, the Dentists like to meet their clients in the waiting room. It´s best to greet patients in a relaxed environment where they feel secure among friends or other patients before showing them to the treatment room, we always use first names. Eye contact and a smile for new patients are particularly important to make a good first impression.

That´s the theory, however, reality can often shatter our illusions. From kids wrestling on the floor to heated political debate you never know what you´ll find when you open the waiting room door. The other day was no exception when I called a new patient, only to watch a tall, raven-haired beauty unwind herself from the arm chair opposite and walk towards me. Sleek lines and cheekbones like side-view mirrors, I struggled to steer my eye contact and brake my falling jaw, meanwhile on the sofa men jittered, women tutted loudly and the receptionists made big-eyes. This girl was seriously attractive.

It was a tricky lead down the corridor to the surgery but with every chime of her high-heels behind, my warning bell began to tinkle. Something was wrong here, or missing, or both. Then it dawned on me, she hadn´t smiled in those first seconds of meeting, not a flicker. Dentists can learn a lot about a patient´s demeanour from this first contact – whether a patient is nervous, relaxed or even spot a bit of work that needs doing – when a smile is missing, despite distractions, it doesn´t escape us. Now, studying her in the dental chair she appeared more sad than sexy and even talking she made a conscious effort not to show her teeth. When I enquired how we could help she finally opened her mouth and said, “I want my teeth whitened I have a wedding in two weeks”.

It would have been easier to white-wash the north face of the Eiger while attached to a bungee cord than perform such a task; her teeth were a mess. Decayed, broken and missing, years of neglect and I´d two weeks to turn it all around. I half expected a TV crew to pop their heads around the door and ask silly questions like, “Will she need veneers, Doc?” or “Can you rebuild her?” These quick-fix programmes have a lot to answer for by creating impossible expectations and not telling us the whole truth – dental treatment takes time, whitening can cause sensitivity and veneers sometimes fall off. Also drilling into sound tooth to place veneers is something Dentists don´t consider lightly.  And remember we´re not talking about popping in a pair of silicone breasts here, the mouth is a hazardous place, with heavy-duty forces amid an acidic swill of bacteria. But still we are driven to improve and enhance, to fit in, keep up or dazzle with that first impression.

This conditioning can take many forms. From glossy magazines to the miracle makeovers we are mislead to neglect our interiors, we forget to spring-clean or move the furniture about, instead we insist upon painting our pebbledash the same colour as the neighbours. The problem is some day you´ll have to invite someone inside or heaven forbid, a professional peeps through your blinds.