Little Things, Big Lessons: In Between the Rotations

There I was in the clinic, like any ordinary day. A patient walks in, and on examination, his cheekbone looks a little off — slightly depressed. The doctor glances at him and immediately knows what’s going on. He turns to me and asks, “Have you ever seen a zygomatic lift in action?”

Of course, my answer is no.

Without wasting time, the patient is prepped. Everything gets anesthetized. An incision is made near his ear. The doctor pulls out a Rowe’s zygomatic elevator — something I’ve only ever seen in slides during practical — and begins.

What followed was equal parts fascinating and horrifying:

• The incision behind the ear (clean)

• The instrument’s path through tissue (squelchy)

• The patient’s guttural shout as bone snapped back into place (unforgettable)

It’s one of those moments that completely sweeps the rug out from under you. One minute you’re standing there, alone with your thoughts, and the next you’re watching a full-blown procedure happen right in front of you, with zero warning. Just vibes.

Another experience that humbled me — and taught me a lot — happened during one of our surgery days. When all the doctors are in the theatre, one or two house officers usually stay back in the clinic to attend to walk-ins, handle basic complaints, and prescribe meds if the case isn’t too complex.

That day, a patient walked in with an x-ray of her tooth. It looked simple enough — a straightforward extraction. The doctor gave me the go-ahead to handle it.

So there I was, no supervision, just me, another house officer, and the dental assistant. Confident-ish.

I numbed the patient, got started, and immediately ran into a problem: the tooth was badly broken down. Using forceps was almost impossible — every time I got a grip, the crown kept crumbling. Eventually, I managed to get a good hold and started the motions to luxate and extract.

And guess what?

The crown popped off. Clean. Leaving the roots behind. Of course.

I stayed calm, grabbed the elevators, and thought, Okay, this is manageable.

It wasn’t.

That’s when I realized just how little real experience I had with elevators. In university, the teeth we were given to extract were so loose, you barely had to apply pressure — half the time they felt like they were ready to fall out on their own. No real struggle, no technique truly tested. But these roots? These ones were a different story. They were lodged so deep, it felt like they’d fused with the bone and had no intention of leaving quietly.  I tried every technique I could think of. Even called in the other house officer — no luck.

This root wasn’t coming out.
It had clearly signed a lease and was not interested in eviction.

At this point, the assistant could see the panic starting to creep in. I was wondering: should I call the doctors in the theatre? Should I ask the patient to wait until someone else could step in? I didn’t want to make it worse. And, to be honest, I didn’t want to get in trouble either.

The assistant gently suggested we just prescribe the patient some meds and ask her to return the next day when a doctor would be available to help. And so we did.

And wouldn’t you know it? She was the first patient to show up the next morning.

I felt so bad. I had spent the whole night Googling things like "consequences of leaving a tooth root in", and spiraling about whether I’d messed up badly. I kept imagining all the worst-case scenarios — pain, infection, bone loss, disciplinary committee. You name it.

But the next day, the doctor came in, took one look, and removed the root in under two minutes. Just like that. Effortless.

I was stunned. What had I been doing wrong?

But instead of making me feel worse, the doctor used it as a teaching moment. The doctor explained everything clearly, broke down what I could’ve done differently, and never once made me feel stupid for struggling.

That experience stuck with me. Because it reminded me that mistakes will happen — it’s how you respond that matters. Own it. Learn from it. Get better.

The Lessons That Stuck:

• Medicine forgives ignorance (if you own it)

• Never underestimate a tooth (or overestimate your skills)

• Good teachers translate shame into skill (mine tossed me the next extraction)

That wasn’t the only time it happened.

Another day, we were all in the clinic when a patient came in needing a premolar extraction. I looked at the x-ray and thought, okay, finally — something straightforward. Of course, it wasn’t.

I grabbed the forceps, started working, and just like déjà vu — the crown popped clean off. Again.

And the funniest (read: most painful) part? Before the procedure, the doctor literally told me, “Just be careful not to break the crown.” Like she saw it coming. I wanted the ground to open and swallow me.

She came over, took one look, and once again saved the day like a dental superhero. And there I was — humbled, holding half a tooth, questioning my entire upper body strength.

People always say it’s about technique, not force. But honestly? A small part of me is convinced my arms just didn’t get the dentist memo.
I feel like the only person who needs pre-workout before a simple extraction.

But in all seriousness, I started seeing moments like these as learning opportunities. Sorry to these patients — they were kind of my clinical lab rats, unintentionally. I was figuring it out in real-time, one stubborn root at a time.

Looking back, those little moments — the broken crowns, the failed extractions, the awkward calls for help — felt like disasters in the moment. But now I see them for what they really were: part of the process. No one becomes a confident, capable clinician overnight. You learn by doing, by messing up, by standing there with forceps in one hand and regret in the other.

I’ve come to accept that not every day will feel like a win. Some days, you’ll feel like you’re fumbling through it all. But with every patient, every unexpected twist, every lesson taught with kindness instead of shame — you get better.

Slowly, but surely, you figure it out.

And until then… maybe skip arm day at the gym. You’ll get your reps in at the clinic.