R-Rated Communication
So I realize I’m getting a little older because I don’t wake up in the middle of the night any more, totally convinced I’ve been removed from dental school for calling Doc “Wrath of” Kahn a little weenie. I guess birthdays do have some advantages.
For the most part, I loved being a student. Shucks, the only times I remember being under the classroom gun were during Catechism and dental school; everything in between was pure hot fudge sundaes. My teachers always had my unconditional attention and respect; with the exception of dental school, I always felt the feeling was mutual.
Of course, my family always took a personal interest in what I did. Sometimes it was almost embarrassing. If my brother had only known I could actually use dental floss in grade school, he’d have told the world. And today, I always view patients in the context of family. I kid around with the family thing during a patient’s first visit, sharing most of my relatives are Sicilian (the Familia never forgets and they’re bent on revenge.) Not a bad guarantee for my best clinical effort.
So Catechism almost scared the bejeebers out of me. Back in the day, misbehavior could get you slapped around…right in front of God! By Day Two I knew I wasn’t taking any chances; I was gonna be the quietest kid the nuns had never heard. I got so intimidated I even contemplated my own Excommunication (After all, I’d be out of nun range and even available to watch NFL Football Sunday mornings.)
Dental school seemed to be run by a bunch of guys who had memorized the Drill Instructor role in Full Metal Jacket. And Drill Instructor is not a pun and they wore white shoes and white belts (Even in the 70s, a ridiculous look unless you were holding a putter.) In dental school we were “undeserving, untalented, worthless little losers” who would never pass the State Board (And my dad was paying for this?) After four years, I could count my helpful faculty conversations on one hand.
This week, a conversation with a patient triggered some Old School memories. I just hope the nightmares don’t come back (I’m getting a little too mature to be chasing Doc Kahn around all night.) I have two wonderful patients who actually used to assist in the Dental Assistant Utilization (DAU) program at USC. These ladies were/are Golden (Working with dental students and DDS faculty might be the fast track to Sainthood.) And I learned way more stuff from the likes of Judy and Claudia than I did from the Kahnster and the Drill Instructors (Okay, so maybe it is a pun.) Turns out, Judy was laid off because she seemed to be having too much fun teaching. Please don’t make me repeat that.
So how many of you folks would object to receiving your health care from Docs who visibly enjoyed their work?
It occurs to me folks stay away from the dentist the same way I wanted to take a Southwest Airlines “get away” from Catechism and dental school. When bad news is the expected order of the day and it’s delivered impersonally within a context of fear, don’t know about you, but I’d rather get away.
The good news: The last time I visited dental school the students were smiling. And today, graduates actually take courses that teach us how to ask and how to actively listen.
More good news: I sat in on an Internet marketing workshop the other day in Arcadia. One of the presenters who happened to have 20 years experience in Public Relations reminded us economic chaos breeds transformation; she could already see successful marketing becoming more feminine; meaning more relational, more collaborative, and more creative.
So maybe out of the chaos, the responsible, personalized care we’re looking for will emerge because teachers are learning and the market demands it. When you’re visiting the dentist or any other health care provider, look for the care you want and settle for nothing less. You’ll never have a better opportunity.
