I am without a doubt sure that every single, solitary application submitted into the colleges of dentistry worldwide bears these 5 little words: “I want to help people.” It’s what we pledged. But have we been able to materialize that promise? The idea of wanting to help people, in my opinion, goes much further than treating periodontal disease and deeper than resolving periapical lesions. Helping people lies in the innate human capacity for compassion and empathy. While it may seem intangible, its effects are tangible and far-reaching, extending beyond just physical healing to emotional and spiritual well-being. This is why it is crucial for healthcare professionals to not only focus on the technical aspects of their profession but also cultivate an ability to practice compassionate care. This includes actively listening to patients, understanding their fears and concerns, and providing emotional support in addition to the drill and fill. The reality, however, is that we are more pulled into treatment guided by the newest technology and profit than the simple acts of kindness and empathy each one of us is capable of, myself included. Our forsaking of human connection in our drive to produce is nothing new.
Empathy vs Sympathy
I am trying to remember uttering the terms empathy and compassion during my academic years. Truth be told, it’s been 20 years, and chances are I probably do not remember many of the words that bounced across my brain in those undergrad hallways. Only in my recent years have I been intentionally devoted to these very principles. I have dedicated myself to not only understanding but also embodying empathy and compassion, grasping their profound impact not just on my patients, but on my own soul as well. The distinction between sympathy and empathy can seem subtle to many, yet it is profoundly significant. Sympathy is when I look at you and say, “I am sorry you are in pain.” In contrast, empathy is when I say, “I am sorry you’re in pain; I have been in pain too.” Sympathy might see us offer words of sorrow for another’s suffering, whereas empathy allows us to share in his or her pain, acknowledging our own vulnerabilities. Last, and most importantly, it is compassion that offers the most support to our patients. As healers, we tell our patients “I am sorry you are in pain; I have been in pain too. How can I help?”
As healthcare providers, the tempo of our duties is accelerated, and as a result, carving out moments for genuine patient interaction proves challenging. The constraints of diminishing insurance reimbursements necessitate abbreviated appointment windows, subtly nudging us toward efficiency over relationships. Within the confines of the operatory, the lure of the digital—charts, x-rays, reports, and CBCT scans—captivates our attention, diverting our gaze from the human before us. Compassion doesn’t just involve spending time with our patients, though studies have shown that all we need is 40 seconds added to the appointment to make a difference.1 True compassion encompasses a harmonious connection with patients; a sincere offering of concern; and, at times, an empathetic reflection of their vulnerabilities. It flourishes when we fine-tune our voices, adjust our demeanor, and orient our focus entirely toward the individual in our care, anchoring our professional duties in the profound depths of human connection.
In our daily practice, the presence of patients grappling with profound anxiety is a common scene. It’s easy to overlook the depth of their fear, akin to post-traumatic stress, which inhibits them from seeking necessary care. The impact of compassion from healthcare providers in alleviating this anxiety is well-documented.1 One experience with a patient has profoundly reinforced my conviction in the indispensable role of compassion within my professional standing. This encounter served as a pivotal juncture, decisively shaping my path forward as a caregiver. It instilled in me an unwavering resolution—to infuse every future patient interaction with unyielding compassion, ensuring that no individual under my care departs without feeling the warmth of my empathetic presence.
Empathy in Practice
The patient, Carrie (not her real name), presented with a toothache. She hadn’t seen a dentist in more than 7 years as the last interaction she had in the dental chair left her in physical agony. Unprepared and not understanding the procedure, she felt forced to withstand the finalization of a root canal on what she remembers to be an inadequately anesthetized tooth. This past trauma had instilled in her a profound dread of dental procedures, a fear so consuming that it might have forever deterred her from seeking care had the relentless pain not compelled her to return. When the necessity of another root canal was broached, her reaction was visceral: Tears streamed down her face, and her voice quivered with emotion. She apologized for the pause. We talked about conscious sedation and getting an anesthesiologist to help, but as a single mother of 3, the additional $2,000 or $3,000 would have produced a terrible hardship for her. I suggested a prescription for anti-anxiety medication as a preliminary step, assuring her we could halt the process at any sign of her discomfort. If that happened, we’d scrap the visit, talk again, and find a solution. She agreed to try.
On the day of the procedure, the anesthetic was of no bother to her. The rubber dam scared her a bit, but we managed. I make it a point to place all instruments that I use below the patient’s gaze, but she just turned at the right moment and saw me holding an endo file. This triggered an onslaught of tears and a palpable reimmersion into her past trauma. She began to weep. Her body began to shake. She was no longer present with me; she was back in the experience she feared. I quickly put away my instruments and sat her back up in the chair. I paused but stayed next to her. I held her hand, and I made it a point to get close to her, close enough so that she would have no choice but to look at my eyes. I told her: “You are safe. You are with me. I am not going to hurt you. You are numb. I have opened the tooth and am in the process of cleaning it out. You have not felt anything all along. That is the proof that you will not feel anything more moving forward. But we do not have to keep going. We can stop. This is your choice.” And then, defying every clinical protocol I had been taught, I allowed my own tears to fall. I didn’t wipe them; I didn’t hide them. I let Carrie see them. My open display of empathy was not a manifestation of weakness but of profound strength—by means of truly connecting with Carrie, of affirming that her fears were seen and deeply understood.
Carrie made the deliberate choice to persevere, and within the span of another half hour, the procedure reached its conclusion. In opting not to engage the services of an anesthesiologist, Carrie not only conserved thousands of dollars but also embarked on a profound internal journey. More significantly, she discovered a wellspring of faith within herself and recognized the magnitude of her own resilience. This experience propelled her to rewire the circuits of her mind, guiding her away from the shadows of PTSD in future encounters. Carrie emerged with her tooth intact, but, of deeper consequence, her perspective on the realm of the possible was utterly transformed. It was through compassion that she found her healing. The most poignant moment came through a message she conveyed after the procedure. Her words echoed a profound trust: “I 100% trust you; I don’t think I even need Xanax anymore.” Reflecting on this, one can’t help but marvel at the immense journey she embarked upon in a singular appointment. From contemplating the enlistment of an anesthesiologist to the abandonment of any anxiety medication, her voyage speaks volumes about the depths of human resilience and trust. Nor was I untouched by this encounter. Immersed in this profound transformation, I, too, emerged altered, carrying forward an unspoken commitment to foster such experiences as abundantly as possible. This journey reshaped my self-perception, unveiling untapped faculties within me and revealing a latent prowess I had not known I possessed. Through this shared voyage of discovery, I learned that healing, in its truest form, is a confluence of strength; courage; and, above all, compassion.
Dentists as Healers
Carrie’s story is not merely a narrative about overcoming personal adversity; it is a beacon illuminating the profound essence of our humanity within the framework of professional caregiving. It underscores the poignant truth that the core of healing lies not in the sophistication of our tools or the intricacies of our techniques but in the depths of our compassion and the authenticity of our empathy. This revelation, born from Carrie’s courage and our shared vulnerability, serves as a call to every healer, urging us to rekindle the sacred oath of helping people who initially set us on our paths. In the grand tapestry of health care, each thread of compassionate care weaves into the next, creating a fabric of healing that transcends the physical and touches the essence of our being. This is our highest calling, our most profound opportunity for impact. And as we venture forth, may we carry the legacy of this encounter as a gentle reminder that in the heart of empathy, there lies the power not only to mend bodies but to also transform lives, bridging the chasms of fear and pain with the healing light of human connection.
REFERENCES
- Fogarty LA, Curbow BA, Wingard JR, et al. Can 40 seconds of compassion reduce patient anxiety? J Clin Oncol. 1999 Jan;17(1):371-9. doi: 10.1200/JCO.1999.17.1.371. PMID: 10458256.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dr. Augustyn is an author, an inspirational keynote speaker, a practicing general dentist, owner of Happy Tooth, a national spokesperson for the AGD, and a faculty member at Productive Dentist Academy. She captivates audiences with her ability to evoke emotion by giving attention to the things that we suppress in the hopes of making us feel less alone and more connected. She can be reached at maggie.augustyn@gmail.com.
Disclosure: Dr. Augustyn reports no disclosures.
FEATURED IMAGE CREDIT: Juanita Foucault from Pixabay.
