(As a teenager I had braces that were – in some way – done incorrectly and over the course of the treatment the enamel of my teeth started to deteriorate. Since I was a quiet and shy teenager, I didn’t speak out and got in a somewhat vicious cycle of dental hygiene since properly cleaning my teeth started to hurt. After a while, I even stopped going to the dentist because I was so ashamed. However, in my twenties, I start seeing an amazing dentist who is very empathetic and doesn’t judge. Session by session, we start ironing things out, but for a very special procedure, he transfers me to a dental surgeon. This takes place at my first appointment before she even takes a look at my teeth.)

Dentist: “Hello, [My Name]. Nice to meet you! May I ask: how old are you?”

Me: “Hi… Um… I’m 24. Why?”

Dentist: “Yeah, I thought so. But from your x-rays, I’d guessed you would be 60.”

Me: *embarrassed* “Yeah, I know. But I try to contain the damage now.”

Dentist: “You’ve got to start cleaning your teeth better!”

Me: “I’m cleaning them at least twice a day now. If you take a look you’ll see. I really started taking dental hygiene very seriously and trying to save what can be saved. But the damage has been done. Still, I really clean my teeth.”

Dentist: “Don’t give me that spiel. I’ve seen how many fillings you have. You do a terrible job of keeping your teeth healthy.”

Me: *miserable* “Yes. I’m very sorry. I know.”

Dentist: “You know how ugly such teeth are, right? You’re 24. Probably looking for a nice girl to marry someday. But I’m gonna tell you right now: with those teeth, you’ll never find a girl!

Me: *on the verge of tears* “I’m really trying to take better care. [Dentist] always told me I’m really doing a good job now. I haven’t had a new cavity in two years.”

Dentist: “Well, I don’t care. Your mouth is ugly. And you’re probably gonna die alone with such bad mouth hygiene. Now, go make an appointment with my receptionist for next month so we can start making you look human again.”

(I didn’t want to object to her, but I didn’t make an appointment and even almost quit the ongoing procedures with my regular dentist. He had to talk to me for an hour until I was ready to keep going. He also said he wouldn’t transfer patients to this dental surgeon anymore.)

(I’m living in a rural and overwhelmingly conservative area, but the times they are a-changing and we recently had our first gay wedding in town. To spare us some nerves, my family decides to withhold this information from my 83-year-old grandma. Apparently, this didn’t work out as planned.)

Grandma: *alluding* “I’ve talked to [Friend]. Did you know [Neighbor] married?”

Dad: “Umm… No. Why do you ask?”

Grandma: “Oh, don’t give me that spiel!”

Mother: “Well, yes. But you have to understand that that’s now legal and it’s perfectly okay for a man to marry another man…”

Grandma: “Oh, grow up! Who cares about that?!” *furiously* “He married someone from [Rivaling Neighbor Town]! THAT’S JUST SUCH A DISGRACE!”

(Yay, progress… I guess.)

(A friend of mine told me this story. She is meeting her eight-year-old granddaughter at the annual spring fair in our village. Note: ours is small village so the fair is tiny — two rides, one raffle ticket booth, one shooting range, and four stalls that sell sweets and toys.)

Granddaughter: “Grandma, I’m thirsty. Can you give me money to buy something to drink?”

Friend: “I already gave you ten euros.”

Granddaughter: “I spent it all.”

Friend: “And what about the 20 Euros that your godmother gave you?”

Granddaughter: “I spent that, as well.”

Friend: “Well, if you spent all your money, you just have to go home to get something to drink.”

Granddaughter: *outraged* “Clearly you WANT ME TO DIE OF THIRST!”

(And no, my friend didn’t give her any more money.)

(Mom has never been outside the US in her life. We pick her up in Frankfurt and head out on the Autobahn back to Wurzburg. As we are going along, she starts noticing the signs, “Ausfahrt” and “Einfahrt,” at the side of the road. She asks her dutiful son:)

Mom: “What do those signs mean?

Me: “Well, Mom, ‘Einfahrt’ means you can only fart once. ‘Ausfahrt’ means you can fart all you want!”

(Twenty silent miles go past as she mulls that over.:)

Mom: “These people are nasty!”

(My wife can’t stand it me pranking her.)

Wife: “Don’t listen to that fool. Those words mean ‘exit’ and ‘entrance.’”

(Mom looks at her, looks at me, and then exclaims:)

Mom: “These people aren’t nasty; it’s my own darned son that’s nasty!”

(I have been diagnosed with Lipo/Lymph-edema several years ago, and because of that, I have gained an ungainly amount of weight on my lower half waist down and my arms. To be honest, I have not stopped caring about my weight, and every miserably failed diet has been a throwback to my mental health, too. My former doctor of choice, sadly, could not keep practicing, so I am on the lookout for a new specialist to take care of me and my needs of MLD — Manual lymph drainage — and compression stockings, to give me at least a little relief from the fluid build up in my extremities. Finding this doctor in a well-known hospital close by, a so-called specialist that was recommended to me, seems to be a lucky find!)

Doctor: “Ah, I see. A classical lip-edema type, complete with lymph-edema. Losing weight is horrible, isn’t it? No wonder, with the genetic factors, and the fact that lip-edema cannot be starved off.”

(Finally, a doctor who is not fat-shaming me or telling me to stop stuffing my face!)

Me: *almost melting into the exam table from relief* “Oh, God, yeah. It’s a nightmare! Not even six months on a 1200-calorie diet helped! And the lymph-edema is making it worse; every step hurts!”

Doctor: “Well, no wonder it hurts. I can–” *presses a thumb into my calf, making a nice deep dent there that stays even after he takes his thumb away* “–do this, and it just shows how much fluid you got. Now, you need to lose weight, drastically, and after you lost 30 to 50 kilograms, you can come back, and we’ll see how you feel.”

Me: “What? You just said… You just said that losing weight…”

Doctor: “Yes, but you need to lose weight! Get a dog or a husband, and you’ll be busy enough to forget about food! To lose weight, you should stop eating those sugary snacks, and the sugary fruit, and all those carbs, and eat more red meat and poultry! But remember, you cannot have too much protein!”

Me: *stares, not believing what I just heard* “Uh… okay? But what about compression stockings, and the MLD?”

Doctor: “Yeah, you see, I am not going to prescribe you that. You can lose weight with a good diet, and then you won’t have those symptoms anymore.”

Me: “You said lip-edema cannot be starved off… and I’m really in pain from the lymph-edema and the fluid build up. At least to help with that?”

Doctor: “Yes, but it is not worth either my time, nor the money, nor the effort to prescribe any of that if you can just lose weight, and forget about it!”

Me: *getting up, feeling like I’m in the twilight zone right now* “All right…”

(I left after that, and met with my family physician, who stared at me, called the health insurance company to complain about that doctor, prescribed me the lymph drainage and compression stockings, gave me a pamphlet about a specialised clinic for my lipo/lymph-edema, and filled out forms to get me a spot there for a three week “rehab.” He also told me to eat “normally/healthily,” since, you guessed it, lip-edema cannot be starved off.)