How I Became A Dental Assistant Overnight

I have always sort of stumbled my way through life, never knowing what I wanted to do or how I wanted to do it. Never knowing if I’m good at anything because I’m too afraid to really try. I had a tough time in high school, it was a wonder I even graduated, so I wasn’t exactly looking to dive right into college. I took a year to fuck around and sort of do nothing. I was dating a guy who was all wrong for me, I was still living at home, working at the Olive Garden as a hostess. It didn’t take long for me to figure out food service and hospitality wasn’t my calling, so I reluctantly went to Community College the next year to start an Associate degree in Human Services. I guess I have always had an interest in trying to help people. More specifically, I cared about equality, fairness, kindness. I had, and still have, no idea how to help myself, let alone other people.

I was working as a hostess at T.G.I. Friday’s when I finished the associates. I didn’t really know what I was going to do with it once I had it, I just wanted the silly piece of paper to present me with opportunities. I applied for some things here and there, but nothing was going to offer any more money than I was making as a hostess. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been so shocked to find out that you can pretty much wipe your ass with an associate. I did, however, find something completely irrelevant to my degree. I was at the dentist one day for a filling. I hate the dentist, I always have. I had terrible anxiety about it, not unlike most people. But I liked this Doctor for some reason, he made me feel like I could freak out and have anxiety and it wasn’t annoying. He’d let me ask questions and be patient and explain things to me, not just force me to be quiet and sit still, like other places I’d experienced. I’m not sure what compelled me to do so, but I asked him if he needed any help around the office. He looked at me for a minute and said that he’d been looking to take some of the pressure off “her”, I remember him motioning to the receptionist with his eyes. We only discussed pay and hours very quickly, and I told him I’d quit my job without notice and start on Monday. It was a pay increase without a doubt, and he said he would give me raises as I learned more, so it felt like a no-brainer at the time. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.

I showed up to the small private practice, which was once a house in a rather sketchy part of town, 30 minutes early on my first day. I was wearing the most professional looking outfit I had, which was just a black button up shirt and black dress pants. It’s laughable now, how perplexed he looked when he saw me, smiling nervous, but excitedly with a full face of make-up and my long, brown hair flowing freely down my shoulders. The receptionist had a similar expression of “wtf is she doing” as she walked me back to see him. I wasn’t amused at the time; I was confused and a little annoyed. Was there something in my teeth? Did I have the wrong day? I stood there smiling awkwardly like an idiot as I waited for him to say or do something.

After a few minutes of awkward glances back and forth while the Doctor worked in a patient’s mouth, he finally got up without saying anything, aside from telling me to follow him, leaving a patient in the chair watching Jerry Springer. He took me to the back of the office, which was at one time most likely a back porch, leading me down into a dark, creepy basement. He turned on the lights, which didn’t help very much, but I could see my surroundings a little better as my vision adjusted to the darkness and he finally began to speak. He pointed out a little kitchen area with a sink, some counter space, a coffee pot, and other random things like silverware and little snacks for anyone to munch on, and a fridge. I wondered to myself why he pointed out the Ziplock bags of ice in the freezer, which was otherwise empty.

He led me through to the next part of the basement into a workshop with all kinds of dental tools I’d never seen before, passing by a small graveyard of discarded dental chairs, and a huge shelf with years and years of reasonably organized paper dental charts. The last part of the basement was a little room for storage. It had a washer and dryer, and an open closet with a variety of scrubs hanging up. He started looking through the scrubs asking what size I thought I was. I didn’t know, so he gave me two sets to try on and simply said “Get changed and come back up”, and he walked back upstairs.

I felt uneasy, but surprisingly not uncomfortable. I mean, it was a little weird, but maybe he’d expected I would have shown up in my own, given that the receptionist wore scrubs. I could see how that would make sense, so I picked the smaller pair of the two he offered, which were loose on me but not outrageously. They were just a regular pale blue and I felt like I didn’t belong in them. I went back through the basement the way I came, taking more of it in now that I was alone. I didn’t see any of the cameras I was silently worried about while changing. Still wildly confused and growing increasingly concerned, I walked back up the short set of cement stairs and back into the exam room.

The patient was getting up from the chair and the Dentist was saying goodbye, pointing him to the receptionist and advising him when to make his next appointment for. I stood there awkwardly in my scrubs, waiting for some form of explanation or direction. He was now wiping off the chair with a Clorox wipe, and I watched the very tall and large black Doctor stand straight up. He looked at me, and all the kindness and charm he had with me previously, seemed like it had evaporated. I felt like I was talking to a whole different person than the man who had previously made me feel at ease with my worst fear.

With an exasperated sigh, he practically yelled “please don’t watch me work, baby”, which took me by complete surprise.

What did he want me to do? He never asked for a resume. I was relatively certain I had told him about graduating with the Associates, but I was positive he knew I just quit my job as a hostess. I think I said something along the lines of: “Um, I’m sorry I’m a little confused”.

I remember him rolling his eyes and pointing to the wall which had a paper towel rack and a rack for gloves. “Put a pair of gloves on and start putting tools in the sink” he stated firmly.

He watched me as I scrambled to do as I was told, I was fumbling with the latex gloves that I wasn’t accustomed to wearing. He made a point of showing me how annoyed and impatient he was growing by crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall behind him, heavy sighs of disappointment erupting from his core every 30 seconds or so as he watched me.

After I finally got the gloves on, I walked over to the tray attached to the chair that the patient just left, and I started putting things in the sink like he asked. He watched me and said, “don’t poke yourself now, watch what you’re doing”.

I couldn’t help it at that point. The last thing I wanted to do was come across as disrespectful, but I was so annoyed I let out a frustrated laugh.

“What’s funny?” he asked in a deep and demanding tone.

I didn’t know how to respond so I said something along the lines of: “How can I possibly watch what I’m doing if I don’t have a clue what I’m doing? I’ll do whatever you want, I’m just confused”.

It was the only answer I had. I couldn’t have been more honest. These must have been magic words, I thought, as he suddenly changed tone. He walked over to me standing at the sink and he grabbed a spray bottle of disinfectant. He showed me which tools go in the sink and what goes in the sharps and what goes in the garbage, explaining it to me in a much gentler way, like he had when I was sitting in the chair. He then showed me how to set up a standard tray for the next patient, while the receptionist brought a woman into the exam room directly behind us.

I’d been in both chairs as a patient before, but somehow had forgotten about the room behind us, in which there was another chair, sink, and TV. There was no door or curtain or any kind of privacy between the two rooms, all that separated them was an open archway the size of a standard door. I didn’t need to know much about dental work to recognize this huge HIPPAA violation. The tray was set up exactly as it was in the other room, and he showed me how to put the bib around the young woman’s neck. She looked familiar. I was pretty sure I knew her.

The Dentist talked to the young woman for a while. She was going to have several front teeth extracted and she was a little nervous, but not nervous enough to me, for someone so young having 6 top teeth extracted at once. He was joking and flirting with her, saying borderline inappropriate things, which somehow never seemed to cross the line. She was loving it, too, the attention. The way he made her feel even though he was probably twice her age. I had no clue how old he actually was at the time, he looked to me about 35. I later found out he was 55 and simultaneously finally understood the meaning behind the phrase “black don’t crack”.

The Dentist had asked the receptionist for a variety of tools, which she was setting up along the counter behind him. He looked up at me with a piercing death-glare before asking in a slow, impatient voice “where are your gloves and mask?”

Well excuse me sir, I thought. I still don’t know what the fuck you want me to do, but for sure, I’ll go put on a mask and gloves.

As I quickly walked to the wall to grab the gloves and find the masks, there were a few moments of silence, aside from Jerry Springer playing on small TVs in each room, which was endlessly annoying. I had just gotten the second glove on and was trying to figure out how to put on the mask when the next bark came.

“She’s DROWNING…” He bellowed out, almost in a sing-song voice, but still serious.

Startled, I turned around to see him seated in his chair, and she was leaned so far back in the green dental chair that she looked like she was upside down, as he was injecting Novocain in the roof of her mouth, saliva pooling in the back of her throat. I brough myself closer, not having any clue where to stand. “Grab that small straw and put it in her mouth” he almost shouted.

I was flustered and nervous and beyond pissed off, but I did as he asked and put the white straw in the girl’s mouth. He pulled the syringe out of her mouth so quickly I thought he was finished. He looked at me with almost pleading eyes, a dramatic effect meant to make me feel like the stupidest person alive.

“You need to turn it on baby girl, or it won’t work” he said in the slow, condescending, and impatient tone. I blinked at him slowly.

“How.” I said firmly, making a point to make it sound like a statement and not a question. It was a blanket “how?”, meant to cover all bases of whatever it was he was expecting of me. He took the small suction out of my hand and showed me the little lever at the bottom. Simple, really, up for on, down for off.

“I thought it was already on. I don’t know how any of this stuff works” I said firmly again, trying to make him understand how insanely confused I was. He picked the syringe back up and poked it in another spot of the roof of her mouth while I moved the straw around, watching it suck up her saliva. Gross.

The next spot he injected made her whimper just a little, it was surprising to me she wasn’t putting up more of a fuss. Anyone who’s taken a shot to the roof of the mouth knows it’s quite painful.

“Can’t you see she’s hurting?” He said, his tone much softer now with a hint of humor…was he joking now? “Hold her hand” he said, watching her pull herself back in the chair as he went to position the needle in another spot on the roof of her mouth.

I looked in her eyes and offered a sympathetic smile which I was sure she couldn’t see because of the mask. I held my gloved hand out where she was able to see it, and she let go of the chair she was holding onto tightly, took my hand, and began squeezing it, increasing pressure along with the little whimpers she was letting out. She was staring into my eyes as he continued to fill up the roof of her mouth with the foul-tasting numbing medicine. I tried to make them look as kind as possible, I’m not sure how well I was doing because I was still very confused, angry, scared, and…ow- she was squeezing my hand so hard I thought she might break a finger. He finally pulled the syringe out of her mouth.

Placing the cap over the needle and not looking my way, he said in a neutral tone “Now tell her to close her lips”.

I was sure I heard him right, so I said, “close your lips, hun”, not knowing myself what that was going to do.

As she closed her lips around the straw, nothing of significance seemed to happen with the suction and she looked at me confused, still squeezing my hand firmly, although she’d let up a little by now.

“Now tell her to spit” the Dentist said absently, he had removed his gloves, and was now looking at his phone.

“Spit?” I said to her kindly, with a hint of a joke in my voice, making it sound like a question on purpose.

She clearly knew at this point I had no idea what I was doing, she smiled, now spitting into the straw and an explosion of sound erupted from it as it sucked up all the saliva and excess Novocain from her mouth, I could feel it jerk my hands as the water traveled down the tube and into the unknown.

“Now hand her that cup, and tell her to rinse” he said, still looking at his phone, completely uninterested in what was going on with us. I told her to rinse and handed her the little cup of Listerine. He walked off towards the front of the office without saying a word to me.

The receptionist appeared a merciful short second later, holding a clipboard. She explained to the patient it was a consent form for the surgical extractions and pointed to where she needed to initial and sign. The receptionist looked at me, sort of smiling. I liked her when I started going to this Dentist too, she was always very kind and soft spoken. She looked like she felt sorry for me, but I also sensed some tension. She still seemed as confused as I was about what I was doing there. The patient signed the form and handed it back to the receptionist, who gave me another tight-lipped smile before heading back to her desk.

Still not knowing what to do, I continued to stand there awkwardly beside the patient, watching Jerry springer on the TV on the wall at the foot of the chair. He came back in after a few minutes, seemingly with a little bit more positive energy. He was actually humming a tune that sounded made up while he washed his hands, dried them with a paper towel, and put on the gloves he had used to give her the shots, which he had left on the tray before picking up his phone. I wondered to myself if that was normal. It didn’t really seem sanitary to me, but what the hell did I know about dentistry?

He asked her if she was numb, and she said “oohh yeahhh”, slurping up the saliva she didn’t realize she had let slip out when she opened her mouth.

She patted her face dry with the bib, smiling up at me, a little embarrassed. He accepted that as “numb enough”, apparently. Without saying a word to either of us, he ripped open a bag that contained what looked like plyers. I stood there and watched him, waiting to be barked at again. The bark didn’t come, it was the condescending, though somehow more laid back, slow tone.

“See that metal suction next to the little one? Turn it on and come up closer to us, don’t be shy, we’re all friends here”. I was sure my frustration was apparent at this point. I didn’t know what I was, but I was sure as hell not his friend in that moment.

I looked at where I had placed the little suction down, and there was a sterilization bag draped over the long metal hose he was talking about. I removed the bag and stepped closer like he asked, I was getting increasingly nervous now. What the hell was he expecting me to do? What the hell had I gotten myself into? Why the fuck is Jerry Springer on so loud? Why the fuck is Jerry Springer on at all? This is a dentist office, right? How did I get here? What. The. Fuck.

He had just began twisting and pulling at one of her top left teeth as I approached with the suction.

“Stay close to me with that” he said simply, as if that was clear direction of any sort.

I placed the suction in her mouth near where he was working on this rotten tooth, able to see more clearly under the light with her head tilted back. I heard pressure and squeaking from the tool, and then a loud crack. I didn’t know if it came from the tool or her tooth, I was in absolute shock as I stood there shakily holding a surgical suction under the tooth. He stopped moving the tool, but the tooth was clearly still in place. He looked at me impatiently and said, “see that?”

SEE WHAT?! I wanted to scream WHAT EXACTLY AM I SUPPOSED TO BE LOOKING FOR!? He pointed to a spot in the back of her throat that I couldn’t see from where I was standing, I was too short.

Since he was standing now, and the chair was raised to his chest, and he was 6’5 and I’m 5’2. I was already on my tiptoes as it was. He seemed like he understood that I couldn’t see it, because he told me to drape the suction over the patient in a way that it wouldn’t touch anything and told me to kick over a small step stool that was in the corner behind me. I did as he asked, stepped up on the stool, grabbed the suction again, and was now able to see her entire open mouth. There was a chunk of tooth near the back of her throat, where there was also now blood and saliva pooling together as well.

“That’s why it’s important to stay close to me with that” he said calmly. I nodded, moved the suction closer to the tool he had brought back up to the tooth.

He sighed, but I think he might have been beginning to finally realize that I wasn’t being dense, I was willing and able to learn, I just needed some clarification. He didn’t say anything as he moved the suction from where I was holding it to the corner of her throat where the piece of tooth was just lingering.

When he brought the suction to the broken piece of tooth, it disappeared, followed by a loud clink that sounded like it came from the porcelain spit sink behind me.

Ohhh, I thought, I get why that would have been obvious to someone else- someone who’s only instruction with the device was to “stay close to me”.

I brushed it off. I understood now. Try to catch teeth chunks with the suction thing before they fall into their mouth, got it. I watched as the first tooth came out and he placed it on the tray. He grabbed what looked to me like a pair of tweezers and some gauze and handed it to me. I looked at him like a deer in the headlights. I was standing on a step stool, holding onto the suction with both of my gloved, and shaking hands, sweating profusely at this point. I was looking into the mouth of a girl who isn’t much older than me, getting 6 permanent teeth extracted while…apparently…under my care?

“Take this from me and wipe away the blood as it comes” he said in monotone. I was beyond overwhelmed. I couldn’t…do that…I couldn’t try to catch the teeth chunks with the suction thingy while wiping away blood that keeps gushing out. I was having trouble balancing myself on the tiny step stool.

Determined to complete this task for reasons I can’t identify to this day, I struggled to do as he asked. I wasn’t great at it. It was very different work from planning the floor chart at Friday’s. He began extracting the next tooth, which came out easier and didn’t break off at all. On to the next one, it was her front tooth on the left. I wondered how she was so calm about this. She had barely said anything, hadn’t asked many questions, like this was a routine Monday for her. I started to feel nauseous. I don’t get grossed out very easily, blood has never bothered me, and spit is gross, but it’s just spit.

Still feeling dizzy and sick to my stomach, I tried to shake it off and concentrate. The front tooth made the same crack as the first one. I caught the broken piece with the suction quickly, satisfied when I heard the clink in the sink behind me, and then wiped at the bloody row of now-missing teeth with the gauze pad. I looked up at the Dentist. He winked at me. Fuck you, I thought. The last three teeth came out easily, and I was so relieved it was over. Getting ready to start putting stuff in the sink, he put his arm out to stop me from leaving my spot, his long, strong arm touching my boobs, which didn’t seem intentional, but looking back I’m sure it was.

What now? I thought to myself. What did I do wrong now? I looked at him impatiently, hoping for instruction of any kind without having to ask for it. He handed me more gauze pads and I wiped more blood away.

“Is it over?” the young woman asked, her mouth still ajar and now missing her (cosmetically) most important teeth.

To my absolute horror, the Dentist smiled sadistically. “Oh no, sugar, we’re just getting started.” He said almost cheerfully.

My stomach sank. What?

He kept her in the same position, but he turned his back to her, I attempted to suck up the spit and blood pooling in the back of her mouth, but the suction got stuck on her cheek, I quickly pulled it off. I looked up at him, his back was still turned to me, but he threw his head back in annoyance again before simply saying “the small one”.

Right, that makes sense. I draped the big suction over her the way he had shown me before, and grabbed the little white one, noticing that I was covering it with her blood that was all over my gloves. I suctioned the back of her throat, and she gave me a smile with her eyes and a “thumbs up” with the hand that was in my vision.

He was back with us now, holding a long, straight tool in one hand, and picking up the…wait, is that…it can’t be…the drill? What? Why?

Without saying a word to anyone in the room who may have some questions, including the patient who had also thought it was over, he took the tool and lifted the flap of her gums with one hand, and brought the drill over to the area with the other. I scrambled to get the big suction back, while trying to put the small one back at the same time. The small one fell to the ground, but I had hold of the big one and decided to forget about the small one and stay close to him.

I watched in shock as the Dentist drilled away at her exposed bone, water spurting from the end of the drill, mixing with the blood from her gums, and then spurting everywhere. No matter how close I got, or from what angle, and I tried just about all of them, I couldn’t stop the mist from spraying back into both of our faces. I waited for my next scolding, but it didn’t come. He continued drilling, unbothered, so I kept my position.

My free hand suddenly became occupied, not by an object but by skin. The patient was looking up at me, tears were pooling in the corners of her eyes. I grabbed her hand, stroking the top lightly with my thumb and tried to force a smile with my eyes.

After what felt like an eternity later, he was done drilling, and he put down the long tool and picked up some gauze. “Drape the suction over her and go to the counter” he said simply.

I did as I was told, I hopped off the step stool and lander at the counter right in front of me. “Do you see two things that look like scissors?” He asked.

I identified the two tools out of a lineup of about 7, picked them up to show him, and he nodded in approval. I brought them over to the tray next to him, and he showed me which ones were called hemostats. “Unwrap the black thing from that piece of cotton, and gently clip the hemostats on the needle, don’t fuckin’ poke yourself” he said, not unkindly, just being a dick, almost teasing.

I unwrapped the sutures from a piece of long, straight cotton and clipped the long needle in between the hemostats. He told me to bring them over to my side and bring the real scissors as well, but to leave them in the bag for now. I climbed back on the step stool and handed him the hemostats. He handed me gauze and the tweezers and told me to just keep the area dry. I nodded and felt the girl grab my hand again. “Almost over now” I decided to say, as I gently squeezed her hand back.

“OHHH!! SO NOW SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE’S DOING!!!” He shouted while laughing obnoxiously loud, his booming voice filling up the whole house-turned-dental-office.

I stared at him blankly, what do you want from me, dude? I thought. What I decided to say, however, was a little bitchier.

“I didn’t say I knew what I was doing, but I’m also not as dumb as I apparently look. Either you’re going to stich her up now and it’ll be over, or you’re going to do something with one of the other tools over there, all of which look like they’re typically used pre-stitch.” I looked up at him, waiting for a verbal assault that didn’t come, I added “correct me if I’m wrong, though”, half for effect, half out of respect.

He was smiling, I could tell through the mask, as he continued to stich her up. Nobody spoke as he focused on stitching her gums closed, and I focused on making sure a single drop of blood didn’t get by. It was surprisingly somewhat relaxing to watch, satisfying, even. Just minutes ago, there was a long, gaping wound where her teeth once were, and now there is a long, black line which was holding the gums he had cut apart back in place in the most beautiful stitch pattern.

At long last, he told me to drop the gauze and open the bag with the scissors. I did as he said, he was holding the long, black string pulled tight out of her mouth and staring at me impatiently. I took the cue to cut the string, and he packed the patient’s mouth with gauze while reciting in monotone verbal post-operation instructions he was clearly sick of saying. “Do not brush your teeth tonight, no spitting or rinsing, no smoking…” It was a long list, but I can still hear it in the same tone in my head and could easily repeat it to this day.

When he was done, I began putting objects in the sink quickly. There was an exasperated sigh I’d grown to dread in the last hour. What now? I groaned internally.

“Where is her ice?” He asked, like he’d asked for it 10 times before.

I looked around the room and didn’t see anything that looked like an ice pack. Confused and annoyed, I simply said I didn’t know.

“Do you remember the Ziplock bags in the freezer?” He asked like he was talking to a 1st grader.

“Yep. I’ll go get it now. I didn’t know what it was for when you showed me.” I said defensively.

I wandered back down into the creepy basement for a Ziplock back of ice because that’s what you imagine the dentist providing you with after extractions, obviously. I wondered to myself what the hell this guy’s deal was. How can someone be so calm one minute and so irrational the next? How can he expect anyone to know how to do a job they’ve had no training for?

I brought the patient’s ice up to her and began cleaning the room again. As she was leaving, the receptionist was bringing back the next patient. There were 3 more brutal hours until lunch. The rest of the day was the exact same with every patient and procedure. His attitude, his random bursts of humor, and my occasional clap backs.

The last patient of the day was a regular at the office. When the receptionist brought him back to the chair, he asked who I was, as there weren’t new faces around there often. “This is Laura”, the receptionist said kindly. “We’re training her to be his new assistant.”

I’m unsure why I needed to hear the words to fully understand what job I now had, but I was now certain I was training to be his Dental Assistant.

As I drove home in my blood and spit covered scrubs, leaving the longest day of my life behind, I amused myself at the thought of being a Dental Assistant. Last week I was a hostess. Now I am a healthcare professional? Surely, I was mistaken, or there was a mix up of some kind. People go to school for years for this kind of stuff, right? I was sure I’d go back the next day, and the real assistant would be there, and I’d be told there was the world’s most unexplainable misunderstanding.

The next day, however, was a lot like the first day. There was no mistake. I later found out that in my state it isn’t required you have a certification for dental assisting, and that I was a lot cheaper than someone who had that education. Within 2 months I had my first raise, I worked for the mad Doctor for nearly 4 years before I decided to move on.

It was the least professional place I’ve ever worked. I was challenged physically, emotionally, mentally, and morally the entire time I worked there at the small Dental Practice in the scariest part of town. I grew to love the chaos and disfunction of the office. I have so many stories of the things I saw there, the things I did, the things I had to put my foot down and say I wouldn’t do, the things I learned, and the people I worked with will all stick with me for a lifetime.

I’m still not sure what I want to do with my life (although I am beyond certain it has nothing to do with the dental field), but out of all the experience this place gave me, finding my voice was the most difficult, and most rewarding part of those 4 years.