The power of doing nothing

I learn something new almost every day of my life.

I’m a 4th year student now, and I can see the light. I’ve practically made it out of the dental school tunnel. But I’m still learning. And I’ll always be learning, I suppose.

Recently, I learned about the power of doing nothing.

The Patient Teaches the Student

My story starts amongst the chaos of a normal clinic afternoon. A new patient sat in my chair, unhappy with the way her maxillary temporary partial denture felt in her mouth. “I want to see what can be done about this,” she said.

So I did what any eager dental student would do. I took out my loupes and my G. V. Black special edition gold-tipped explorer, and I went to work. I was checking and inspecting and diagnosing. I came up with several treatment plan options. I took pristine diagnostic impressions and mounted the casts with precision. I discussed her case with faculty. I sought out first opinions, second opinions, even third opinions.

I worked really, really hard.

And then three weeks later, my patient once again sat in my chair. I walked through all of these carefully thought-out plans. I drew pictures and diagrams. I showed video explanations. My treatment plan game-face was on.

At the end of it all, as I sat there out of breath from all the talking, the patient asks, “Could you maybe cut off some of the part that touches the roof of my mouth?”

“After all that? Are you serious?” – Is what I was thinking.

“Yeah, sure. We could try that.” – Is what I actually said.

So I did. I trimmed the partial denture into a horseshoe shape. And after I gave it back to her and she tried it out, she lit up the room with a big smile, patted me on the back and said, “That’s it! That feels great now!”

And that was it. She left clinic that day, and I haven’t heard from her since.

We’re trained to be this heroic diagnosing machine. We see a problem and we immediately start thinking of all the possibilities of fixing it along with the complications and statistical research that supports it. This is a good thing. This is why we go to school.

But what I’ve learned is that sometimes you don’t necessarily need all that. Any good treatment starts with communication. With listening to the patient. Working with them to give a treatment that works not only scientifically, but also for the patient’s satisfaction. Sometimes the best treatment is almost no treatment at all.

Sometimes all you need are kind words and an acrylic bur.

~Joe Vaughn, Alabama ’15, contributing editor