I was out for a walk the other day when I noticed a car parked across a sidewalk. It wasn't completely blocking it, but enough that someone pushing a stroller would have to go around. A child learning to ride a bike would have to leave the sidewalk for a minute. And someone using a wheelchair? They'd probably have no choice but to head into the street.
It immediately reminded me of one of the few parking tickets I've ever received.
I was in college, living in a neighborhood with terrible parking. My car was in my driveway ... well, mostly. The back end hung over the sidewalk just enough to earn me a ticket. I remember being so annoyed. It was my driveway! Parking was impossible! Where else was I supposed to park?
At 19, I thought the ticket was about me. My driveway. My inconvenience. My lack of parking. And my overdrawn bank account.
Standing on that sidewalk a few days ago, I realized something.
It wasn't about my driveway.
It was about a sidewalk that belonged to everyone.
Nothing about the situation had changed over the years. My perspective had.
Asking the wrong question
We all bump into situations where we wonder: Why is this a rule? Why do I need to know this? When am I ever going to use this?
I've sat through continuing education courses asking those same questions.
Looking back, I realize I was asking the wrong one.
Health care has never been about preparing only for the situations we expect. We practice standard precautions because we don't know who may be carrying an infectious disease. We screen every patient for oral cancer hoping we never find anything. We renew our CPR certification every two years. Thankfully, I've never had to use mine, and I hope I never do. But if that day ever comes, I don't want the first time I think about chest compressions to be while someone is lying on my operatory floor.
We prepare long before we know we'll need to.
Maybe the better question isn't When am I ever going to use this? Maybe it's Who might someday need me to know it?
Preparing for the patient we haven't met yet
After over 30 years in dentistry, one thing has become crystal clear to me. Every patient who sits in our chair has a story we can't see.
The patient who keeps canceling appointments may not be lazy. The caregiver who seems distracted may be carrying far more than we realize. The patient who struggles to follow home-care instructions may not be unmotivated. The person who pauses before answering a medical history question may be deciding whether they trust us enough to tell us something important.
Some of the most valuable continuing education I've taken over the years wasn't valuable because I used it the next day. It was valuable because it expanded my perspective. It taught me there are experiences I'll never personally have, challenges I'll never completely understand, and patients whose stories will be very different from my own.
Learning doesn't always give us answers. Sometimes it simply helps us ask better questions.
The sidewalk belongs to everyone
Looking back, I'm actually grateful for that parking ticket—not because I enjoyed paying it or eating Top Ramen for another week until payday, but because it taught me something I couldn't see at 19.
The sidewalk wasn't built for me. It was built for everyone.
I think dentistry is a lot like that.
Not every course is designed around my practice or the patients I happen to see every day. Sometimes it's preparing me for the patient I'll meet next month. Or next year. Or maybe someone I'll only treat once in my entire career.
The best continuing education doesn't just fill our heads with information. It expands our perspective.
I don't get to decide who walks through my operatory door tomorrow. I only get to decide whether I'm ready when they do.
Also by the author:
- Which disinfectant wipe is best?
- Paper up or paper down? Clarifying instrument reprocessing standards
Editor’s note: This article first appeared in RDH eVillage newsletter, a publication of the Endeavor Business Media Dental Group. Read more articles and subscribe.
