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Alphabet soup: What color is your dental sector?

Dr. David L Hoexter, editor in chief of Dental Tribune U.S. Edition, is proposing colorful communications. (DTI/Graphic created at www.wordle.net)

Tue. 9 October 2012

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A dilemma. We now have so many dental groups that we have almost run out of letters of the alphabet. As group after group abbreviates its name, we are at a loss to tell one from another without a scorecard. Either we need a new alphabetical language or more exotic sounding dental organizations with as yet, unused letters.

History relates its alphabet beginnings to Mesopotamia, where early transcribers used grooved lines on a bulla, or gourd-like container. These scratches of lines became the beginnings of written communication.

Flashing forward to mobile communications of today, where time pressures have abbreviated words, and we have a lingo all of its own: Abbreviating is a modern necessity.

To begin with, you cannot tweet — under twittering rules — over a certain number of characters. Also, texting sophistication requires not only abbreviating, but also doing it creatively, to stump the recipient.

Fortunately, having a college-aged daughter has given me a little heads up in this language. For example, CUL means “see you later” and POS means “parent over shoulder.” Everyone is in a rush — but to where? Tired thumbs? And communication stands in line behind speed.

There is a definite division, albeit, not a sharp one, between the Baby Boomers and the computer generation, sometimes alluded to as “nesters.” Whereas Baby Boomers enjoy direct personal communication, nesters prefer computer communication. Abbreviations then become even more important.

We are running out of letters to distinguish the plethora of dental organizations. A rebus should represent a meaning, or a riddle perhaps. The ADA, for example, stands for American Dental Association. But, it could also represent the American Dermatological Academy.

At least the GNYDM, representing the largest dental meeting in the U.S., has unique letters in its title and will not be confused with any other group.

There is also the ERA mini implant, not to conflict with the ERA in baseball. By the way, has anyone ever seen a maxi implant? Between the AACD, ASDA, AADE and AAID, one wrong initial and you’re in the wrong state or country and have to pay new dues. The ESC, Eastern Society of Cariology, must not be confused with the ESC, European Society of Cardiology.

The idea of written language is to give unique connotation to words. Abbreviating these words with initials not only obviates the communication, but makes it confusing. Abbreviations have become the teratogen of communication.

To help ameliorate this confusion I am proposing a Hoexter’s Index (HI), which will not only speed up communication, but will satisfy tweeters and texters alike. I propose that we assign a color to every dental specialty. For example, I suggest burgundy for general practitioner, red for periodontics, green for implants, yellow for oral surgery (and maxillofacial), orange for ondodontics, blue for esthetics, black for pathology, gray for dental materials, pink for orthodontics and pedodontics, and brown for prosthetics.

This way, each respective group would be required to use that color in its initials. When publicizing an AO meeting, we would recognize that an AO meeting was for the Academy of Osteointegration, an implant group, as compared to an AO meeting, which would be for Alpha Omega, a dental fraternity group. Also, we would know that AAP represents the American Academy of Periodontics, which would not be confused with the AAP, or the American Association of Prosthodontics. Unfortunately, unless we have a color chart, we will be just as confused, but it will be much more colorful.

This is only a suggestion and any thoughts or other solutions would be received and considered for publication as well. There is an obvious problem. Let us communicate and help correct it.

To conclude, Rodney Dangerfield, the famous comedian, once described his son eating alphabet soup that his wife, a horrible cook, had made. The boy separated letters to spell “HELP.”

Let’s help our profession abbreviate with colorful understanding. OK?

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