I've always said, for the last twenty-five years or so, that I hate the dentist. It isn't the dentist personally, but the whole six-month cleaning and various other horrors associated with the dentist. Therefore, I lump it all in and call it the "dentist". I hate the "dentist".
When I moved to Florida I had to get replacement doctors. My friend's mother, who recognized that I while I was twenty-six in years I was way younger in life experiences, tried to talk me into going to her dentist who she highly recommended. I appreciated her opinion, but he wasn't on my insurance and as a newbie-on-her-own-in-the-big-world, I opted for the cheaper way of life. I would learn later on that wasn't always a good choice.
After several dentists, one selling to another who sold to another, and after a change of insurance, I finally switched to the dentist recommended by my friend's mother. I had passed his name on to my own mother when she moved locally so I was by then familiar with Dr. M. He was a sweetie.
Tall, handsome, and very kind. He came into the room, always extended his hand to shake mine, always informed me exactly what was going to happen and why it needed to happen, and explained every move he made inside my mouth. He was an old-time doctor in a new-time age. He had the cutting edge of dentistry utensils and machines, but he also believed in talking to patients on the phone when there were issues.
I've written before about the time the man came and picked up my mother when I was out of town and she had a broken tooth. He left his office and his patients, drove to my mother, hauled her wheelchair down the stairs, got her into the car, drove her to his office, worked on her tooth, and then reversed it all and took her back home. Old-time doctor. No doctor can beat that story. That's the man he is.
I contemplated finding someone new closer to home as I drive a good 45-minutes from my house, but in the end, my trust in him choosing a replacement won. My six-month appointment arrived and I went.
The new dentist was nice despite having to give me the bad news of a cracked tooth and so today I went back to have the new guy prep for the $1600 crown. As he went through what I could expect, my mind was on Dr. M. and it never left. The new dentist did everything just fine, but for me, his not being Dr. M. just made me sad.
As he gave me the injection to numb me, I remembered how Dr. M. would hide the gigantic needle down to his side as if out of sight, out of mind. I remembered exactly how he injected, pulling the lip back and forth. I thought about his voice and what he would be telling me about what was happening. I knew he would say my name and ask how I was. The new dentist did that too, but I stubbornly just didn't care. It wasn't the same.
Through most of the two hours of my ordeal, I thought of Dr. M. I thought about what he was doing in retirement. I thought about his family, his sons. I thought of all the things I had taken for granted in having him as a dentist, and in my regret at not writing him that thank you note. Because the man deserved a HUGE thank you. For caring for us. For making us feel cared for. For taking the time to listen to us, whether we were complaining or telling a story. For truly following the adage of "do unto others". What a special man.
The new dentist asked me a question regarding the type of inlay I would want, and my first thought was, "Can you call Dr. M. and ask him what he recommends?" Thankfully, I did not say this out loud because the poor guy is probably under a ton of pressure to live up the dentist saint before him (at least I hope he is), but I made my decision on the past. Whatever Dr. M. did is what I wanted done. By the time the chair was raised and the procedure completed, I was ready to cry.
I wanted Dr. M.!
Like a child stamping her feet, I wanted to demand that he return, right now! How dare he leave us. But, of course, I pulled it together. And then the new dentist came back to put in the temporary crown, and in listening to him give advice to someone off to my right, I heard the words UNC. So, I told him my daughter went there, and he told me he went there, and his whole face lit up. He began talking to me about his time there and how much his wife loved NC, and I realized this poor guy was trying. To do his job. To fill another's shoes. To earn my trust and to be my dentist. I had to open my heart like I did my mouth and let the guy have a chance.
Then he told me the tooth next to the one he had just worked on also had a crack and would need a crown. But I'll not hold that against him. We shook hands and off I went to fork over my life's savings credit card. And while standing at the desk, shooting the breeze, who should appear, as if he knew I needed him, Dr. M.
He looked great. Young, tanned, and happy. He hugged me, asked how I was, and we chatted some and I thanked him for all he had done. It wasn't what I wanted to say, but it also wasn't the time to gush. Seeing him so happy and carefree, made me feel better. For myself. For him. For the new dentist, Dr. C.
Changes. They are a coming no matter how hard I try to hold them at bay. The secret is to learn to roll with them. And to hope that the new path is sprinkled with a little of Dr. M's magic.
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