Due to repeated issues that are none of their fault, I’ve become well acquainted with the employees at my dentist’s office. I’m back once more for significant pain following a procedure the week before.

I joke with the dental assistant as she sets things up. She then tries to take X-rays of the problematic area, using a machine in the exam room, with the sensor connected via USB to the computer. 

From my point of view, she takes a first image, checks the computer, repositions the sensor in my mouth, then takes a second image. After she takes a third one:

Dental Assistant: “What is wrong with you!?”

Me: “That’s what I came here to find out!”

She laughs, explains she meant the machine, and ends up shuffling me over to the usual X-ray room, where it does end up working.

The phone rings. 

Here at the front desk of this dental office, I have specific rules: Don’t answer the phone if a patient is standing in front of me. Well, right now a patient is standing in front of me, so I let the call go to voicemail. 

The phone rings again. A quick glance at the phone’s LED display tells me that it’s the same person; the call came quickly enough that [Caller] must have hung up and called again instantly. The patient is still standing in front of me, so I let it go to voicemail.

[Caller] hangs up instantly and calls a third time. The patient is still in front of me. 

[Caller] hangs up instantly and calls a fourth time. The patient is still in front of me.

[Caller] gives up for about thirty seconds, giving me enough time to discharge the in-person patient and carry out some other duties. As I’m returning, the phone rings. It’s [Caller].

Whatever it is, if it’s not important enough to leave a voicemail about, it’s not important enough to pick up, right? For an instant, I’m tempted to let it go. But then Customer Service Helpfulness asserts itself.

Me: “[Dentist’s Office], this is [My Name], how can I help you?”

Caller: “Hello, this is [Caller]. Remember me? I barged in yesterday and demanded an appointment. I also demanded service in Spanish, as my English is not good, requiring you to pull your coworker out of an ongoing dental operation so that I could get answers I felt comfortable with. It’s also why I’ve been calling endlessly instead of leaving a voicemail. In this way, I have disrupted your office for two days in a row.”

Me: “Thank you for that exposition. Yes, I remember you. We look forward to seeing you in an hour or so.”

Caller: “Can I postpone until next week?”

On November 19th, I’m sitting at the front desk, manning the phones and scheduling patients, when the phone rings.

Patient: “Hi there, I’ve got a problem. One of my teeth, in the bottom-left, about halfway between the molars and the incisors, hurts.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that. Would you mind giving me some details about what’s going on?”

Patient: *Gives details.*

Me: “All right. I should warn you that we are a little backed up right now: it’s not just that it’s getting towards the end of the year, and everyone suddenly remembers to get dental care, it’s also that Thanksgiving is coming up, and we’ll be closed for a while. For that reason, could I start by offering you time on Monday, December 8th?”

Patient: “That far out?”

Me: “So, a little bit of behind-the-scenes knowledge: I keep escape hatches in the schedule where I can squeeze people in for emergencies. Based on what you’ve described, your situation doesn’t qualify, and I have to save the escape hatches I have for something more pressing. I’m going to take the liberty of adding you to my spreadsheet of People I Contact In Case There Are Cancellations; additionally, if your tooth starts to hurt more, you can call back and say, ‘I need an escape hatch,’ and I’ll move you up. How does that sound?”

Patient: “Well, okay, if that’s the best you can do…”

Two days later, on Friday, November 21st, I call the patient back.

Me: “Hi, [Patient]! We currently have you scheduled for December 8th, but I talked about contacting you in case someone cancels. Well, as it happens, someone’s canceled. Are you available on Monday at 4 PM?”

Patient: “Sure! See you then!”

For unrelated reasons, I’m late to work on Monday. When I walk in, I see that the schedule has been annotated: “[Patient] canceled their appointment. They have been rescheduled to December 8th, back where they started.”

Me: “Wow. And here [Patient] was telling me that this was urgent and waiting until the 8th was too long…”

The week passes; we have American Thanksgiving. I come back to work on Monday, December 1st. The phone rings.

Patient: “Hi, this is [Patient]. My tooth has been hurting for the past four days. I need to see the dentist today, Monday, December 1st.”

Me: *Politely disregarding that, on the list of People I Contact In Case There’s A Cancellation, I have notated her entry with, “All talk and no action, don’t even bother”* “I’m sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, we are closed today; could I offer you time on Wednesday the 3rd at 11 AM?”

Patient: “That’s way too long.”

Me: “Unfortunately, I can’t offer you anything more, as the dentist won’t be here until Wednesday.”

Patient: “All riiiiiight, if I have to wait until Wednesday…”

On Wednesday, the patient walks in at 11 AM. Fifteen minutes later, she walks out again.

Dentist: “It stopped hurting. We couldn’t isolate what was going on.”

Me: *Thinking it’s a good thing I squeezed her super-important appointment into the schedule.* “I see.”

Ninety minutes later, the phone rings:

Patient: “It started hurting. Make room for me to come back.”

I hand this off to the dentist: In MY opinion, there’s no room for her today, but the dentist knows his abilities better than I can. He schedules her to return at 3:30 PM.

Dentist: “She needed a root canal, and we didn’t have time to finish it. When can she come back?”

Me: “Depends. Can I double-book her into our busy schedule, or do you need to be able to focus?”

Dentist: “Focus.”

Me: “Then we’re busy until Wednesday the 17th, two weeks from today.”

Patient: “That long? I can’t believe you’re treating this as unimportant!”

In the 1980s, when I first got a job out of college, I didn’t have a regular doctor or dentist. My mother worked as a receptionist/secretary for a dentist in the city, so she just fit me into his scheduled appointments. 

After one of my cleanings by the doctor’s hygienist, a cavity was found that needed filling. The hygienist applied a preliminary topical numbing agent; the doctor would later numb me with Novocaine. The doctor came in to do this work. With him was another dentist from a different office in the same building. They had been shooting the breeze and were just continuing their conversation while my doctor was preparing me.

One of the last steps he took was to put on a pair of latex gloves before actually working on me, which was a relatively new practice. Seeing this, the other dentist piped up with:

Other Dentist: “So, Dr. [Dentist], do you have AIDS or does he?”

I could hardly protest, because I was all numbed up. But I made it a point to tell my mom. She casually dismissed it, but I told her that for my next appointment, if that other doctor was present that I would be leaving.

When I was a child, the dentist in our village was this old gruff guy, who was really popular with kids. He was a great dentist and managed to put everyone at ease. When he died, his son took over the practice, and he was, well, not so good.

When I was about twelve, I had an accident where I managed to bash my face into a metal pole. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries, just a bruise on my forehead and chin, a swollen nose, and swollen lips.

My health insurance decided I needed my teeth tested for six months after the incident, so in case there were any issues, they could be linked back to the accident.

So once every month, I had to go to the dentist, where they would put electrodes on my teeth and run an electrical current through to see if the nerves were still alive.

One time, I was sitting in the chair, electrodes on my teeth, and the usual question:

Dentist: “Can you feel anything?”

Me: “No.”

Dentist: “Oh well, we’ll just turn it up a little. Anything?”

Me: “No.”

Dentist: “Just a little bit more. Anything?”

Me: “No, nothing.”

So, he turned it to max, but still nothing. I had visions of my teeth turning black and falling out when he said:

Dentist: “Oh, the machine isn’t turned on.”

And he flipped the switch.

You know these old cartoons, where eyes or teeth are popping out of someone’s head for emphasis? That’s how I felt. The noise I made was probably quite cartoony as well.

His reply?

Dentist: “Well, the nerves are obviously fine.”

No, no, they are not fine. This was forty years ago, and the nerves in my teeth have been awful ever since. Drink a bit too hot? Here, have some nerve pain. You want to eat ice cream? Here, have some nerve pain. Are temperatures dropping below freezing? Here, have some nerve pain.

I am writing this while my front left tooth has decided to remind me, quite forcefully, that it is NOT HAPPY about it being winter.