I changed dentists about 15 years ago when a molar on my lower jaw, that had been cracked and injured, needed to be removed. This professional insisted that he had to also pull the corresponding tooth on the upper jaw as well. If not, this tooth would grow to fill the gap, causing all sorts of problems.
I searched until I found a dentist, a young man who was fresh out of dental school, who was willing to pull only the cracked tooth. I have been happily in the care of this professional ever since (and no, the healthy tooth that was predicted to give me such misery has not done so).
Sadly, nearly overnight this young man was diagnosed with a brain tumor and without warning had to sell his practice. My heart breaks for this dentist's journey, especially since both Tom and I have felt a deep friendship develop with him over the years. From the dental chair, we've witnessed his journey into marriage and eventually the birth of four beautiful children. We feel grief for him, his family and for us.
My first visit with the new owner of this dental practice was a few days ago. After my teeth were cleaned by the hygienist I met our new dentist. In answering his questions I mentioned that we'd been out of town recently, eventually revealing our work in the world of eating disorder prevention due to Andrea's death. I sat in shock, my mouth filled with this strangers fingers forcing me to listen to him expound on his feelings of sadness over such stories, equating Andrea's death with suicide, and the tragedy of young people who have no perspective on how minor or transient are their problems and so take their lives or do stupid things that kill them.
I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I realize that people are misinformed when it comes to eating disorders, but to minimize my daughter's struggle with a deadly illness to a "stupid mistake" felt reminiscent of the ridiculous comments made shortly after Andrea's death by well-meaning individuals who would spout platitudes about how they knew exactly how I felt because they'd once had a pet dog die (I, too have lost beloved animals. It is heart-wrenching but, trust me, doesn't come close to the pain of losing a child) or that we should be grateful because we still had one daughter left (I AM grateful that Jocelyn is still alive, but Jocelyn isn't Andrea--do not ask me not to grieve for the loss of one child simply because I am fortunate enough to have a second). As with these people, I believe this dentist thought he was making comforting statements.
It is possible that someone reading this may be thinking, "Well then, what could he have said?" Frankly, nothing. I mean that sincerely. When confronted with another person's loss there are no words that can heal or fix the situation. Listening with compassion and empathy is, although much more difficult than it sounds, often the best response. If silence feels too cruel or too difficult, then a simple, "I am so sorry for your loss." will suffice. No other words are necessary.
And now I must thank you for allowing me to get this experience out of my insides by sharing it with you...it has been churning in a not so pleasant way. It feels good to write it down.
And alas, I am once again searching for a new dentist.
With blessings until next time,
Doris
Thank Doris for this story. Giving a simple "I'm sorry" is a hard one for those of us who like to fix things; but it's something I've appreciated getting so I have learned to get past the uncomfortableness to give it to others. I usually add to my "sorry", "please let me know if there is anything I can do for you." I have an "open door" policy in my job and since using a "I don't need to fix it" approach, I've seen an increase of people coming in just to talk. I guess that's what "I can do for them. Not only does it help them, but I don't have to find answer to a situation I can't fix in the first place!
Thanks for the story and hope you find a dentist!!
Kym
Posted by: Kym | January 21, 2012 at 09:27 AM