It's Complicated

“You need to have your wisdom teeth out. They’re deeply impacted and draining pus. I’ll refer you to the oral surgeons”, I said.

‘What does impacted mean?’ my client asked.

“It means they’re stuck. They haven’t got enough room to come through properly, you can’t clean them because they’re halfway under the gum, and you keep getting infections around them”, I said.

“They’re not bothering me. Why do I need to have them out?” my client asked.

“The infection is causing bone loss. If you leave them you could lose both the wisdom teeth and the teeth in front of them. And it’s causing halitosis,” I said tactfully.

“Halitosis?” my client asked.

“Bad breath”, I rephrased helpfully.

“You’re saying I have bad breath?” my client asked, clearly mortified.

“A little,” I said, “And it will go once the wisdom teeth are out”.

“How soon can I see the oral surgeon?” my client asked.

I grabbed my letterhead and completed the referral before my client could change his mind. He had not wanted to come to the dentist. He had merely asked about his teeth for an opinion. Now he was lying back in the dental chair with a plastic apron around his neck.

It was an unusual end to a first date. I had invited Stuart over for dinner. We had known each other as friends for years and recently decided to get to know each other in a romantic way. Since I live over the shop, popping downstairs for a bit of after dinner dentistry had seemed easy and logical. Stuart had not seemed so sure, but my enthusiasm overrode his objections.

The oral surgeon agreed wholeheartedly that Stuart needed to have his wisdom teeth out.

“She’s taking good care of you", he said, nodding his head towards me at the consultation.

Five months after our first date, Stuart lay back in a hospital gown and asked the nurse to reassure him again that the surgery was needed. The nurse assured him that on the overburdened NHS they only offered procedures that were absolutely necessary and no more.

The next time I saw Stuart, on his return from the general anaesthetic recovery room, he was dribbling, groggy and euphoric from potent painkillers.

“Marry me,” he slurred.

Stuart, separated from his wife, was still legally married. Tempted though I was, I could not take his wonderful offer seriously, nor take advantage of a man under the influence.

“You’re high”, I said.

Stuart’s recovery was complicated by dry sockets (loss of the protective blood clots) and infection. I loaded him up with local anaesthetic, more painkillers, antibiotics, and dressed his sockets with sedative seaweed poultices. I fed him soup and porridge. I bought him six box sets of ‘The Sopranos’, the only method that seemed to provide distraction from his pain.

For two weeks, he hated me, his girlfriend, and, for better or for worse, his dentist. He withdrew his marriage proposal.

Fortunately, Stuart survived his ordeal, and so did our relationship. One year later, I diagnosed and extracted his daughter’s infected wisdom teeth, this time with Stuart at the helm, talking her through the procedure.

The responsibility of treating family members weighed heavily upon me. I maintained professional integrity by asking myself if my care for my clients was what I would want for my loved ones. And whether I offered the same treatment to loved family that I do for my clients. This situation passed the test.

Years later, Stuart and his daughter still appear to love me. When I think of their wisdom teeth, I think of their loss as my gain. In the process, I gained a little more wisdom myself.