The Other Side of the Tooth (Philippians 2:3)

This morning, I put on a pair of scrubs and went to work as a dental assistant. Not exactly how I envisioned retirement.

My wife is a pediatric dentist, and through circumstances beyond her control, she found herself without any staff for the day. She asked whether I could come in and help, and I gladly obliged. Having spent decades in medicine, I figured I knew more than the average person about assisting with medical procedures. But I certainly didn’t consider myself qualified to be a dental assistant. In fact, my father was a dentist, and one of the reasons I never followed in his footsteps was that I knew dentistry required extraordinary precision and manual dexterity. I had tremendous respect for what dentists did, and frankly, I didn’t think I had the hands for it. But I could certainly lend a hand wherever I was needed.

First, I had to figure out where everything was. Where were the supplies? What needed to be cleaned? How did I prepare the room for the next patient? Which instrument did she need, and when? I spent much of the morning learning the layout of the office, cleaning, preparing rooms, and trying to anticipate what my wife needed next.

Then came the screaming child. He was undergoing dental treatment with oral sedation and nitrous oxide, but that didn’t stop him from screaming and struggling to get out of the chair. For nearly an hour, I stood beside my wife, handing her instruments, managing the suction, and watching her work. It brought back memories of medical school and residency, when I occasionally had to perform fine needle aspirations or bone marrow biopsies on frightened children. I knew what it was like to work with a screaming patient.

But there was something different about watching my wife. She had to perform a technically precise procedure inside the mouth of a child who seemed determined to escape the dental chair. Think about that for a moment. It’s difficult enough to place a filling in a cooperative patient. Now try doing it while that patient is screaming, twisting, and struggling against you. Yet there she was, maintaining her composure, concentrating on the procedure, and caring for the child. And all the while, she kept talking to him, charming him, trying to put him at ease, even as he continued to struggle.

I recognized that voice. It was the same gentle, reassuring way I remembered her speaking to our own children when they were much younger. For a moment, I wasn’t just watching a pediatric dentist at work. I was reminded of the mother I’d watched care for our children all those years ago. Only now, she was bringing that same tenderness into a situation that required extraordinary technical skill.

I’ve always known that my wife is an excellent dentist. She’s built a successful practice over many years, and I’ve seen how much her patients and their parents appreciate her. But today, standing beside her, I saw something I hadn’t fully appreciated before. I saw just how good she really is.

Our daughter is also pursuing dentistry. Occasionally, she’s said that she isn’t smart enough to become a medical doctor. I’ve never believed that. Having spent decades in medicine, I know how demanding it can be. But I also know that dentistry requires a remarkable combination of scientific knowledge, technical precision, judgment, patience, and the ability to work with people who may be frightened or uncooperative.

Being a physician doesn’t automatically mean you could be a good dentist. My father was a dentist. My wife is a dentist. And soon, my daughter will be one too. I’m surrounded by dentists, and I’m quite content being the one who didn’t become one!

At lunchtime, my wife called to ask whether I was overwhelmed. I told her no. After all, I’d dealt with screaming children before. But what I didn’t tell her then was how impressed I was with what I’d witnessed. After we finished working that evening, I finally told her. I told her how proud I was of her. Not simply because she’s a successful dentist, but because I’d watched her do something extraordinarily difficult and make it look almost routine.

Paul wrote:

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.
Philippians 2:3 (ESV)

For most of my professional life, I was accustomed to being the one with the answers. I taught residents, interpreted difficult cases, and directed a laboratory. Today, I was the one asking where the supplies were kept. And I loved it. There’s something wonderful about setting aside your own credentials and accomplishments to help someone you love. Sometimes that means doing the simplest tasks, taking instructions, and discovering that another person’s work is even more difficult than you had appreciated.

I went to the office today because my wife needed an extra pair of hands. I came away with a much greater appreciation for her skill, her patience, and her dedication to the children she treats. I’ve been proud of her for many years. Today gave me another reason. And as I think about my father, my wife, and my daughter, I realize something else. I may be the only one in this family who didn’t become a dentist, but I’m certainly one of their biggest admirers.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

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