What a Dentist’s Chair Taught Me About Pausing, Remembering, and Being Grateful

I have never been a fan of visiting the dentist.

Even when I know I need treatment, the thought of sitting in that chair makes me anxious. This time, though, I had little choice. I needed two root canals and a wisdom tooth extraction.

What I expected to be an ordinary dental appointment unexpectedly became a deeply emotional experience.

I was particularly worried about my one-year-old daughter. I knew the procedures could take around an hour and a half, and I wondered how my husband would keep her occupied while I was being treated.

So I packed two of her favorite rhyme books.

The plan was simple: give her one book, and when she lost interest, bring out the second one.

We arrived at 10 a.m. I reassured my husband that everything would be fine and that he just needed to keep her engaged.

Then the procedure began.

Because I am afraid of syringes, I kept my eyes closed after the dentist administered the local anesthesia.

With my eyes closed and nothing much for me to do, my thoughts began to wander.

And strangely enough, I found myself thinking about my mother.

She passed away eight years ago.

I remembered one of the earlier times I had visited the dentist. After having my upper wisdom tooth removed, I returned home and my mother was not particularly pleased. She had wanted me to save the tooth and have the cavity treated instead.

That small memory suddenly felt so vivid.

For a few moments, I was back in those days.

The sounds of the dental equipment continued around me. There were thuds, vibrations and mechanical noises against my teeth. Normally, I would probably have focused on every sound and worried about what was happening.

Instead, I was thinking about my mother.

That made me wonder how rarely we actually stop to revisit our memories anymore.

Our lives are constantly moving.

We work, take care of our families, respond to messages, check notifications and scroll through social media. Whenever we have a few free minutes, we often fill them with something from our phones.

How often do we simply sit quietly and remember?

That day, I did not have much choice.

I was lying in a dental chair with my eyes closed, and my mind had nowhere else to go.

Then I heard a familiar voice.

“Amma, Amma, Amma…”

It was my daughter.

I opened my eyes and looked toward her.

She was in her father’s arms, waving at me and trying to get my attention. She was surrounded by unfamiliar people and clearly wanted to make sure that I was okay.

That little moment brought another flood of memories.

I thought about my pregnancy.

The complications.

The uncertainty surrounding her birth.

Everything that had happened before I finally held her in my arms.

Looking at her now, I felt incredibly grateful.

I silently thanked God.

It was one of those moments when gratitude does not need many words.

My thoughts then moved to my husband, my brother and friends I miss dearly.

One memory led to another.

My eyes became a little wet, but I tried to hold myself together.

Meanwhile, the dentist continued working.

“Open your mouth.”

“Close your mouth.”

“Keep it open.”

The instructions came between the sounds of the instruments.

I was physically in a dentist’s chair, but mentally I was moving through different chapters of my life.

When the treatment finally ended, I felt an enormous sense of relief.

But the best part was seeing my daughter waiting for me.

She immediately wanted to come into my arms.

After being separated from her for that period, I just wanted to hold her.

And as I hugged her, I thought about how strange life can be.

I had gone to the dentist expecting pain, anxiety and an uncomfortable procedure.

Instead, I got something completely different.

I got a pause.

A pause I did not plan.

A pause that gave me time to remember my mother, appreciate my family, think about the people I have lost touch with, and reflect on everything that brought me to where I am today.

Perhaps we underestimate the value of slowing down.

We are always waiting for the next task, the next notification, the next appointment or the next thing that needs our attention.

But sometimes, an unexpected interruption gives us something that our busy lives rarely allow:

time to remember.

Time to appreciate the people who shaped us.

Time to recognize how far we have come.

And time to be grateful for the people who are still beside us.

That day, a dentist’s appointment gave me much more than a dental treatment.

It gave me a reason to pause.