Dental Angel Amruta

 “Bite hard, backwards, not on your front teeth, but on your jawline,” she kept saying.

I followed the instructions twice, rehearsed but failed to bite. “Start mixing the dental mix once again, and use yellow colour”, she told the assistant. Something is wrong.

‘Please give ma’am the mirror. Look into the mirror and bite on your lower jaw,’ she said

After listening to her, I held the mirror in my hand.

I felt bad for bothering her. The dental cement was ready once again. Now she repeated the instructions and said, ‘chew hard backwards on your jaw’.

I bit into the cement-like I never had before in order to make sure it was just right. The dental assistants looked down at me hopeful. There was a deep silence as they kept waiting for the impression. Finally, she said, ‘Perfect’.

I felt blood flow in my body with ease.

‘As your crown is a ceramic one, let us check the colour.’

I kept watching the dentist. There was great zeal and enthusiasm as she worked.

It was during the pandemic that one of the premolars on the lower jaw showed a small depression. A bit of food clung to the tiny groove. It was easy to remove it. Going to the dentist was not an option since the pandemic news made us physically and mentally ill. It also meant direct contact with the dental instruments.

“Please follow the Covid measures and protocols,” I said. She replied, “Yes ma’am, we do that for everyone.”

A few months later the tiny depression turned into a larger groove sending a few pain waves. To know what I can do, I called Amruta. I was prescribed a few medicines and given some tips with a modus operandi. It worked wonders and I let the second wave of COVID pass by without visiting the dentist. Eventually, the depression turned into bad dental caries and I had to visit Amruta as the world anticipated the third wave.

Amruta was a student at the school I taught several years ago. We met in the supermarket a couple of years ago. She had grown taller, prettier, and more confident. She recognized me now. While she billed her things, we conversed.

After a few months, I saw that she had opened a clinic in one of the busiest areas of Pune. The clinic had the most advanced technology and was self-sufficient for an entire dental treatment. We congratulated her. Her patients included a number of students. There was a lot of positive energy in the clinic. Nearby, I had a friend who sold handlooms.

Amruta began the treatment after examining the cavity on the first day. She wore a surgical gown, a surgical cap, and a tight face mask. She was fully covered. She wore spectacles and had two assistants.

She examined me and asked me to relax saying that an X-ray would reveal the state of dental caries better. After covering me with a vest, Amruta stuck between my teeth a tiny, thin sheet she held and underlined ‘Shoot.’ This was a digital shoot. She re-examined the tooth again, gently hitting the neighbouring teeth to determine whether it was transferred pain, and finally exclaimed, “This is a root canal, Ma’am. Had you come earlier, we could have performed it with a dental filling.”.

The treatment began that day. Anaesthesia was deftly given all over with tiny pokes of a syringe needle after she sprayed something to numb the senses. Eventually, I felt some tingling sensation followed by nothing at all. She began the procedure by inserting multiple needles successively. Nimbly, she held my jaw with one hand while holding the needles handed to her by one of the assistants with the other. She asked for needles by saying, ‘sixty percent, yellow one, the red one, the new one and so on. ‘If the cavity was larger, she said, we would have to build a structure to support it. I later learned it was an implant.

The assistants were instructed to use the suction for sucking out the saliva as she worked. She had told her assistant to prepare the irrigation earlier. In all, she took me to the wellspring we once had in our home in Kerala. When the well became filthy due to slow drying and gradual warming, workers jumped in with pickaxes. They cleaned it with sharp objects and my teeth and caries seemed exactly like it. Amruta said a structural implant was not necessary after examining the tooth. I waited silently for Amruta to finish that day’s treatment.

After that, she called me two days later. On that day, she arrived at the clinic after me. She wore black trousers and a crop top, and her short hair had hints of colour, making her appear attractive and professional. She was quickly back into her surgical gown, mask and glasses. She told me she went to donate blood for a friend with Thalassemia. She asked if the pain persisted. I said, ‘There’s a dull spasm of pain, not as intense as before. So she dug out the dressing and looked in it. It was inflamed and infected. It took her many minutes to clean the canal, disinfect it and then redress it. Her instructions were the same. Eventually, my tooth began to heal.

She always showed great excitement as she treated her patients or inserted flexible canals in a creative manner. During one of my visits, I met her grandmother, a robust old lady dressed in a sari similar to trousers, a nauvari sari. After her treatment, she rushed out. Amruta came rushing out to inform her that a vehicle had been arranged for her. We said we could drop her back. Amruta said she lived nearby and she brought her along, but now that she wants to go on her own, she arranged to have her dropped home.

On the last day of my visits, we caught up with the few years that had passed. We clicked a photograph in remembrance of our first meeting.

I recall Amruta waiting for her mother at the gate when she was a child. She was spoiled, but I realized how strongly that love shaped her confidence. I was thankful to her for her sincerity, thoughtfulness and care; and for treating everyone alike. That certainly put a smile on my face.

“Eyes are the windows to the soul. A smile is the mirror of the heart”― Janna Cachola