The Day My Dentist Cried

Soon after my latest release from the hospital, I had a dental cleaning scheduled. I wrestled a bit over whether or not to go; it is one of those things that seems a bit irrelevant when you’ve just been placed in hospice care and told your time is limited. In the end though, since I had scheduled the appointment 6 months beforehand, it seemed easier just to sit through getting my teeth cleaned rather than trying to have the awkward conversation about why I was canceling. So I went.

The dental tech asked me all the usual questions, and asked if there had been any changes or updates to my health situation. I guess I didn’t get out of the awkward conversation after all. I told her I had been admitted to home hospice a few days prior. She paused her typing to look up at me and compassionately replied, “aww, and you still came to this today.” I wanted to say that it was important to me to have a clean, shiny smile for my funeral, but not everyone uses dark humor to cope with hard things like I do, so I just kind of shrugged and smiled. 🙃

When my teeth were cleaned and polished, and had been examined by my dentist, I was awkwardly climbing out of the deep chair and gathering my things when my dentist cleared his throat and seemed to stammer over what he wanted to say. He motioned toward his dental technician and said, “she told me about what’s going on. With the changes in your health, and, you know, hospice.” The gentle, quiet man I’d known only for a year reached for my hand and cupped it in both of his own. A small torrent of tears spilled over his lashes and made a thin trail down the aging creases of his middle eastern skin. He seemed to be grasping at what to say next, and then all at once it tumbled out with a fresh splash of tears. Still tightly grasping my hands, he gave them a little shake and said “Be brave, ok? Just be brave.”

Completely caught off guard by his emotion I found myself struggling for what to say in reply. In the deepest crevices of my feelings it hurt that he was he was hurting because of me, and some part of me ached to alleviate that. I slid my cool, smaller hand over his warm grasp, and hoping to convey a million things that did not seem the time and the place to say, I smiled and replied, “I will. I am not afraid.” Not even knowing him well enough for a hug, I proceeded to turn my attention to the bag of small dental samples being extended to me, chose a new bright pink toothbrush from the line up, and then made my way to the front desk where the eager young receptionist beamed, “would you like to go ahead and schedule your next 6 month cleaning?” My mouth twisted into a half grin, not sure if she was being sarcastic or not, but when I realized she was not I enthusiastically replied yes, yes I would like to make my 6 month appointment because one, I was not about to explain my sad situation once again, and two, I am a white-knuckled holder of hope and I have every intention of showing up to that appointment 6 months from now.

In the privacy of my back seat I exhaled the emotion of it all, and lamented over how complicated and painful and just plan sucky this whole situation is. It is sad that I am sad and my family and friends are sad, and I feel like I spend a lot of time trying to mitigate that, but when people who hardly know me roll tears over my story, it just seems downright unfair. On this day of seeing the ripple effect of pain in this world, the greatest light I could cling to was to repeat to myself over and over the words I know to be trustworthy and true, “He is making all things new.”

I hurt when my story causes others to hurt, but I believe God has chosen each and every person that has intersected with my life. Our stories are woven together with so many threads entwined. I hope that to whatever extent we have interacted it will be used to bring hearts nearer to Christ, whether that’s through a lifelong friendship or a brief hand held in a dentist office.