A Dentist’s Bedtime Story

by Robert G. Jones, D.D.S.

Sitting in my favorite easy chair after a normal day at the office, I was tired but contented in the quiet of the room. My six-year-old daughter and two-year-old son were quietly sleeping. My wife was reading the paper in the first lull of the day for a mother and housewife of a busy dentist.

My thoughts turned to the past few years spent in my profession, from my graduating in the class of 1949 and to the first few years of practice which were exciting and stimulating. I was justly proud of my growing practice, and financially I was doing well by most standards. While getting used to being called Doctor, I always felt an inward glow of pride. My soul was at peace in serving humanity in my own little way. I felt secure; I seemed to have the world by the tail.

Then I suddenly became aware that more and more and one by one, these things were losing their luster. Being called Doctor didn’t seem to stimulate me any longer. I accepted the pleasures and financial security brought me as being my just due. Compliments from patients for a job they thought well done no longer gave me a lift. The practice of dentistry settled down to a dull unexciting routine from which I derived only money.

To break the monotony, I started taking periodic vacations, cutting-down my hours in the office and taking postgraduate courses in all phases of dentistry. These courses would stimulate me only until the things learned had become routine in my practice, and it would again settle to dull drudgery even more frustrating than before. Vacation trips and more time off did not refresh me and make me eager and ready to get back to practice as they should have done.

In the past few years I slowly came to know that my frustration with dental practice resulted from the realization that I would never be pleased with my dental work, no matter how proficient an operator I became. What if I did learn to cast the most perfect inlay, or place a better alloy, or construct the finest bridge or denture in the world. The end result would be a far cry from the God given dentition, and my frustration to do more would still remain.

Pondering and searching my brain for an answer, I dozed off and immediately found myself seated in a vast courtroom. Gazing around, a strange sight came into view. The immense gallery was filled to capacity. The jury box on my left was occupied. A battery of attorneys seated at the table in front of me were absorbed in, and were rearranging papers on the desk in front of them. I glanced back over my right shoulder and above me sat a solemn faced judge in black flowing robes. This seemed a very normal courtroom scene. But wait! I was in the witness chair, and yet, there was an overwhelming sense of sincerity permeating these surroundings.

Recovering from my first startled thoughts, and with a vague, though unexplained twinge of terror racing through me, I realized that the vast audience, jury, attorneys and judge had, though adult in size, the features and some mannerisms of children not appearing to be over six year olds. Beautiful children just like those that had been brought into my office for dental care in the past few years. But they were not laughing and playing like the children I knew and loved. They had a deadly seriousness about them that was frightening, this, I realized, is what had caused my first reaction that almost bordered on terror.

My startled brain had not recovered completely, nor comprehended the meaning, when I heard a voice and realized the judge was speaking.