The day began at OSPAC, which is the medical clinic run by the Gabonese Christian & Missionary Alliance. The work there is incredible, particularly considering the limited resources they work with—and they have an abundance of joy (see yesterday’s post). However, when an American dentist is on the scene, the cases flock. One older gentleman with massive decay in one of his wisdom teeth came in as one of the first two or three patients to arrive. He told our team that he had been faithfully praying every night for years that God would send someone to relieve him of the pain in his teeth. And now, our very own Dr. Paul came as an answer to this man’s prayer!
It’s always incredible to watch the effect of such major but seemingly basic needs being met after being neglected for so long. Their steps are lighter and their countenance so much more confident after the offending teeth are removed and the debilitating pain along with them.
About mid-way through the morning, a 13-year old girl came in. That fact by itself was unique, in that patients had been screened so that the most urgent situations would be seen first, and someone that young wouldn’t be likely to have problems on the scale of the others that had been seen that morning. As she sat down in the chair and was asked about her pain level, she described some moderate pain in the lower left part of her mouth. A quick inspection, however, revealed a massive decay that must have been causing radiating pain. Paul took a few moments to numb her with some shots, and she was moved over to the side in order to see an additional patient while the anesthetic took effect. As the next young woman was evaluated and eventually numbed as well, 13-year old Rebecca sat quietly and waited. When she came back a few moments later, Paul poked and prodded a bit to see if she was fully numbed. As he poked at the lower portion of her gum, Rebecca never flinched but simply said “un peu”—it hurt a little. A few more shots, another wait off to the side, and finally, she was ready.
Rebecca sat down in the chair with as much confidence as you can possibly imagine a 13-year old having at the dentist. Alace, the translator for the morning, asked her if she was feeling strong and full of courage, and sure enough, she was. She was nervous, a bit scared, but strong and ready. Paul began the extraction, carefully operating around the gum area and down toward the root. However, the tooth had decayed so completely that it literally crumbled under the slight pressure of the instruments. Mobile dental clinics that have been hauled in crates and suitcases across an ocean don’t come with x-ray machines, so there is no way of knowing what’s beneath the surface. Had there been an x-ray, this case would have been referred to the hospital in the south of the country, about an eight hour “jungle taxi” ride from the chair that she was currently sitting in, for effective removal. However, it was too late for that. The tooth was coming in pieces, with Paul carefully pulling them out one by one.
Nearly 45 minutes later, Rebecca continues to sit motionless in the chair. Paul continues to work at the tooth, piece by piece. He’s finally down to the root, but there is no longer any surface area to pull on, rendering the extraction instruments nearly useless. The team has prayed over her, over Paul, and much good has happened, but the root remains and it needs to come out. An hour has gone by, and Alace notices that Rebecca’s eyes are starting to swirl around in her head a bit. They take a break, and she leans forward out of the heat of the lamp and puts her head in a cold, damp towel for about 30 seconds. Maybe a minute. Then, she leans back in the chair, looks up at Paul, and opens her mouth wide. Without a word she says: “Let’s keep going.” They do. Paul digs and pulls and digs some more, working from seemingly every possible angle and with a wide array of instruments. Still nothing. Another 30 second break. Another look of determination from the 13-year old, she steels her resolve, and leans back again. They keep going. But still nothing. Finally, they determine that all they can do is give her some pain medication and ask her to return during one of the next two days and they’ll try again.
It’s at this point that Rebecca utters the first protest that has been heard through this entire process: “But I can’t miss school.” School in
13-year old Rebecca gets out of the chair after more than an hour of very difficult dental work, turns to Dr. Paul, smiles sweetly, and says simply “Merci.” Thank you. Thank you for caring for me. Thank you for being willing to give me pain in order to heal me. Thank you for loving me enough to come thousands of miles to be an answer to my prayer. Thank you for showing me what Jesus would be like if He came as a dentist in a tiny, very rough, clinic in my hometown. Thank you. And she smiled all the way to the recovery chair, and then out into the village.
Regardless of circumstances, background, and level of toughness, I dare you to find me a 13-year old girl in the
There is much talk nowadays that we live in a world where our heroes are disappearing. Maybe that’s true—I don’t know. I do know that by coming all the way to
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