‘Serenity now’ is a phrase made popular by its use in the NBC sitcom Seinfeld. In the third episode of the ninth season Frank Costanza, following advice from an instructional tape yells out ‘serenity now’ whenever he gets angry in order to keep his blood pressure down. Apparently Steve Koren wrote it into some of the Seinfeld episodes after hearing his own father shout ‘serenity now!’ as a rage-controlling exercise he had heard about from an instructional tape.
Perhaps a full-lunged yell may offer some relief even if it doesn’t quell the pain felt during dental surgery, but that would be quite embarrassing. In fact it’s not even possible to murmur anything let alone ‘serenity now’ in the most subdued form possible. You just sit there and wait until the ordeal is over. For some it may not be as anxious an experience. Maybe they are masochists. Stoic. Transcendental in some way. Speaking strictly for myself, I am terrified of dentists.
Serenity now and forever involves avoiding dental appointments. That seems to have been the mantra that was never clearly thought out but was unconsciously uttered and practiced with an almost religious fervour.
Indeed, if you happen to be in the United States of America and do not have dental insurance, the very thought of a visit to a dentist could send the blood pressure up. And if you do get an excruciating toothache ‘serenity now,’ you might think, is death. Nothing less.
My resourceful sister figured out that there are options for the uninsured. There are places where one could obtain a free examination and if extraction was necessary agreement on paying in instalments. Still expensive. There’s always ‘more to be done’ and all of it costs.
Undeterred, she said, ‘there are dental schools where students attend to you under the supervision of faculty.’
And that’s how I learned about Penn Dental. That’s shorthand for the School of Dental Medicine, University of Pennsylvania which has teaching clinics ‘providing comprehensive dental care within the scope of the school’s educational programs.’
An appointment was made for a free examination. A general cleanup would cost a fraction of what the other facility would have charged. Affordable. How blessed Sri Lankans are, I thought to myself, not for the first time.
A few days before the appointment a friend called to find out how I was doing. I’ve known him for 46 years. So I told him about the trauma related to dental hygiene.
‘Go to Penn Dental machang!’
‘My sister made an appointment.’
‘When?’
I told him.
‘My daughter is a student there. I’ll ask her if she can see you.’
And so, it was all arranged. We went.
A tiny girl came out to greet us. She didn’t say ‘good morning sir.’ She said ‘Hi uncle!’ and gave me a big hug: ‘don’t worry, I will take care of you!’
And so she examined. Comprehensively. Niyasha Wijedasa was so gentle that at one point when she stopped to write down some notes (she is a student and has to consult the supervising professor at every turn) I even fell asleep. Kind, gentle and an absolute angel. It was not a painless couple of hours, but she talked and laughed and joked and teased and in this way alleviated all anxiety. She was skilled enough to ensure that the discomfiture and pain were minimal. She knew her stuff, clearly, for her supervisors concurred with her diagnosis and approved the procedures she recommended.
So she gave me a treatment plan and asked me to return a few days later for a cleanup (to start with — apparently there’s a lot of work to be done even after that which will have to wait until I return home to Sri Lanka).
Two days later, I related the whole story to my dear friend and new found brother John Hennessy, a Professor of English at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. When I came to the part about the random call from my friend and the discovery that his daughter happened to be a student at Penn Dental, he said, ‘that’s so serendipitous, and that word comes from a name used for your country.’
I hadn’t thought of it that way. Maybe it’s so ‘Sri Lankan’ that we have got used to it. It happens so often that it doesn’t surprise us the way it did John. Maybe it is in our DNA to receive the outrageous and the magical with equanimity. It’s not that we are not enraged or delighted as the case may be, but that such extremes are never imagined to be impossible.
This must be said. Niyasha was kind to me but the passion for dentistry and the drive to correct the innumerable flaws in a patient’s mouth had nothing to do with the fact that I had known her father long before she was born.
‘I had lots of dental issues when I was a kid. They were all sorted. I think that’s why I wanted to study dentistry. I was scared to smile, I didn’t want to talk, but once my teeth were fixed, I was alright. It gave me confidence. And that’s what I want to see in my patients.’
Most of her patients in the years to come will not be Sri Lankans, but all of them, I have no doubt, will be delighted by Niyasha’s charm, kindness and skill. It would be an unanticipated and yet delightful experience.
Serendipity. Now. That’s what Niyasha Wijedasa will offer without saying a word about it. And her patients wouldn’t have to scream or murmur under their breath or through clenched teeth, ‘serenity now.’
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