Is it wrong to love my orthodontist?

I have to admit that I was full of dread, thinking about today—my very first tightening appointment. And whenever I get truly nervous about something I take pen to paper and write down all the questions I have so that my fears can be eased. “Is it terrible that I only have one point of contact in my mouth with which to chew? Is it a problem that I’m still gumming at my food after 5 weeks? Am I grinding my teeth at night?” I think of that song from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Mikado: “I Have A Little List” in which Ko-Ko, The Lord High Executioner of Titipu, rolls out this enormous scroll for his “little list.” I had a rather fashionable little notebook, but it did take up 3 pages, so Ko-Ko and I are nothing if not thorough.

Despite all of my qualms, my sweet orthodontist approaches me with a smile, patience and good answers to my questions. He is reassuring and supportive and makes me understand that he does indeed have a plan, and that I am quite literally safe in his hands. The only time I saw him stop smiling was when I told him that though I’m concerned, it’s not because anything was hurting. “Good,’ he said seriously. “It should never hurt.”

This is my kind of doctor.

The teeth are tighter, but in a solid way, not an uncomfortable way. Where this sensation made me feel unhappy over the past week, now it makes me feel secure. Funny to think that I have my own personal shepherd for my teeth—one who is making sure that my molars and incisors do not wander off into directions that might harm them. He said that the teeth want to be where they were before, and the change is strange and uncomfortable to them. But they’re moving, and they’ll find their way. And you know what? I utterly believe him. I almost skipped out of his office because I literally felt…well, loved. I don’t think I’ve ever had this kind of experience with a doctor before, but maybe that’s why our healthcare system is in such disarray. We should feel loved by those who are trying to heal us. We should feel nurturing energy, not the beaten-down ennui of bureaucracy. I feel like I’ve been given a gift today to experience a doctor who believes in the Hippacratic Oath. I find it fascinating that this is part of the modern translation of the Oath used in many medical schools today:

I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug.

Sing it loud and sing it proud, my medical brothers and sisters!