{ outreach in action } by Paul Roberts • Foundation & Outreach Director
The Viral Apocalypse A story of membership in 2020
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read settled over the land like darkness slowly swallowing the last rays of light. The unseen virus was showing itself every-
where—from schools to businesses to hospi- tals to graveyards—but it was too elusive to define, too unpredictable to subvert. Spikes would mock temporary gains once vigilance let its guard down. People shuttered inside and peered warily through narrow cracks like citizens in long ago westerns watching a gunfight in the street. Those who did risk en- countering the outside world did so donned in masks and restrained in distance. Life had not halted, but it was stripped of normalcy. Businesses shuttered. Students were sent home. Athletes were without games. Tour- ism, travel and seasonal gatherings were canceled or feebly moved online. All that was familiar was shaken. Grief became a fre- quent visitor, but grieving often had to wait. Social connections were still in play but were exposed as a poor excuse for human touch. Virtual rarely felt virtuous. Loss was often tangible and tragic but also sensed as nearby and unknown, nibbling at our sense of security and wellbeing. Confinement blues, protocol exhaustion, PPE rash, Zoom fatigue, gloomy daily case tallies and home school exasperation became the afflictions du jour.
No one was exempt. Not even you, the dentists. In fact, the profession convulsed in collective crisis. Once a bastion of regular healthcare, a community cornerstone and a small business engine, dentistry was now shackled like the rest with bills to pay and mouths not only to mend, but also to feed. The routine hum of a practice went silent. The pride of the profession—a lovely smile— was now masked and yet, still unable to hide uncertainty and fear in often downcast eyes. But down is not out and after complying
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with initial regulations, you, the resourceful dentist, backed by ample help from friends at many levels, put on your thinking cap (in addition to gowns and shields) and figured out how to return, rehire, re-book and regain ground better than ever. Ever ready to treat emergencies. Ever comforting to assure the hesitant. Ever adapting to accommodate the “new normal”. You provided a sense of com- munity again as practices once more began to hum.
Were you permitted to gather in mass and lift a beverage with colleagues and friends and share your story—what would it be? Perhaps some sorrow over a long awaited but missed dental school graduation. Perhaps an interruption (or acceleration) toward that retirement dream. Perhaps a malaise of documents and activities that you never hope to experience again. Perhaps a sense of pride at closing ranks and leading your staff and patients through the trial. Whatever your story, it’s valid and it likely involves oth- ers because you don’t walk alone in dentistry. That’s not how the profession rolls.
As 2021 approaches, the coast is not yet clear. Dark and unknown remains in the forecast as winter sets in. Damages are still being counted. It remains to be seen what fractures are slow to heal and what new resources will emerge to meet needs. Still, we move forward together. Using these resources and the sup- port of the greater dental family, you figure out how to adapt, how to serve more humbly, how to keep smiling so that you can give healthy smiles to patients. It’s what you do.
This apocalyptic-feeling journey in this gut- wrenching year is when membership means the most. You weren’t alone in the darkest hour, and you’ll emerge side by side when warm rays once again shine. Take time to reflect and reassess this horrid 2020, and then—like a good dentist would instruct— spit, rinse and follow a treatment plan to a healthier, brighter new year. We will be here alongside you. f
Contact Paul at paul@modentalmail. org. Read his blog, The Week That Was, at modental.org/blog.
