Patient #906

Where y'all from? Pennsylvania.

Rosen... is that Jewish? Yup, but non-practicing.

Well I gotta get all my teeth out while I can ... ya know, fer free. 

I heard this same sentiment over and over again. I was in hell. I was in Wise, Virginia, a small town in the middle of nowhere, and I was stuck there for three days. My journey began as I flew in to the nearest airport, but after I landed and proceeded to the only car rental counter, I discovered I was over 100 miles away from my destination and in another state all together. I wasn't getting a good feeling about all this. How did I get here?

It all started with a great new report by 60 Minutes about Remote Area Medical. Remote Area Medical is a non-profit volunteer organization that provides free treatment to those without access to medical and dental care in remote areas of the world. After it was discovered that there was a tremendous domestic need for this service, Mission of Mercy was formed to provide medical and dental care to those without adequate access to healthcare in America. Annually, Mission of Mercy holds an event in an area of need where doctors and dentists volunteer to provide their expertise at no cost over the course of two to three days. I decided that this was exactly the cause that I wished to support. 

I knew that the dental care I could provide far outweighed my out-of-pocket expense and so I arranged for a Virginia dental license, airfare, hotel, and rental car. The first day I arrived at the Mission of Mercy event I was excited to begin volunteering, until I got a stern warning not to go outside of the fairgrounds where the event was taking place. Some of the locals had devised a new way to make methamphetamine, called a "slow cook.” They would put all the chemicals in a soda bottle and leave it out to form methamphetamine over several days. Unfortunately, the soda bottles are unstable and tend to explode, giving a whole new meaning to "minefield."

Wise, Virginia was central to the methamphetamine belt. We saw it when the patients opened their mouths: melted teeth. Every patient was the same story, we were in town pulling teeth for free and they wanted in. The first patient of the day was an eye-opener to the sad drug-addicted reality of the town, followed by hundreds of identical cases. Patients flooded the event as we stood extracting teeth for 12 hours at a time and for three days straight. At the end of the three days I returned home, exhausted. I did this annually for four years and extracted over 1500 teeth. While it was deeply satisfying to help hundreds of people every year, I began to feel disappointed by the impersonal feel of the operation. Patients moved in and out of my chair at warp speed, and although I gave each and every one of them the very best care possible I didn’t have time to get to know them. This was not the way to be a dentist, or to treat a patient. They were all just numbers. 

This year I traveled to a new site that was closer to home. Cumberland, Maryland started a Mission of Mercy last year, just as I completed my last Virginia clinic. I found out that I could drive there instead of flying and the clinic only lasted two days. I signed up. 

I drove in to Cumberland, Maryland after a full eight-hour day of work. After three and a half hours in the car, I was already tired for the next morning's work, which started at 5am. The day began much the same as Virginia – a blur of tooth extractions. At the bottom of every patient's sheet was a number marking their arrival: 75, 126, 229, 378, finally we hit the 500s. The first day was an incredible success. We helped over 500 patients but, like Virginia, I couldn't remember any of their names and their faces were a blur.

Day two began with threats of a rare October snowstorm. I arrived at my chair and started a whirlwind of extractions. We were shorthanded because of the impending snow so I took over two chairs. I worked the chairs back and forth all day, numbing up one patient and extracting the other patient's teeth. At noon, more doctors left to get ahead of the snowstorm, leaving me with triple duty. Numb, extract, interview, clean up ... the numbers continued to rise: 705, 812, 900!

I decided to take a break and walked outside to see the snow. As I passed the long line of patients waiting for their turn one of them quipped, "Where are all these dentists going?! I've been waiting here all day!" A small woman behind him slapped the back of his head. He smiled. I smiled. He apologized. I sat down next to him and we talked for a bit about the town and where he was from. I explained that I had been working for two entire days without a break and that if I didn't get one I would probably be on the floor, which wouldn't do anyone any good. He apologized again.

I walked back in to the battle before me. The day continued where it left off, except that I recognized a patient! The chart said Patient #906 but I knew her name: Corrine. She had been at the clinic the day before to have a tooth removed and although she had another broken tooth that needed to be extracted, she politely decided to come back because so many other people were waiting. She was the woman who slapped the man from behind and she understood what this was all about. Now I did too.

I extracted her tooth. She thanked me a hundred times and gave me a hug. She was no longer #906: she was Corrine. Corrine works in a hotel up the street cleaning rooms. She has two daughters, one of which just had her first grandbaby — Lillianna — and they were coming for dinner tomorrow. 

That was all I needed to know. I will be back next year.