I took the children to watch the new Toy Story film this week. Like most Pixar films, it made me laugh, cry and think about life in ways I wasn't expecting. On the surface, it's a story about toys trying to find where they belong in a world that is changing faster than they are. But underneath, it asks a much bigger question. Have we forgotten how to play? Not just children. Us. Somewhere between growing up, going to work, paying bills and trying to keep everyone else happy,

Everyone has that fear. For some people it's dogs. For others it's spiders, bees, flying, or heights. Mine? Ticks. Even writing the word makes me shudder. It's irrational in some ways and completely understandable in others. I know they're tiny. I know most bites don't cause serious illness. Logic isn't really the point. Fear rarely is. Because of it, I've quietly shaped parts of my life around avoidance. Camping has always come with an internal calculation. Is it worth the r

Anyone who works with me can tell, my favourite part of my job is to get to know people and listen to their stories. So it's always amazing to hear what patients are prepared to share. The dental treatment room suddenly becomes less clinical, more human and special. So this week, one of my regulars came in and shared something that stayed with me. One of those, that I'll keep with me forever. The sort of patient you look forward to seeing. Warm, thoughtful, curious about the

It had been approximately five years since the last time she had walked into a room like that. It didn't matter how long it had been. The flutters in her stomach returned instantly. The sweaty palms. The nervous bladder. The overactive brain trying to remember all the right things to say. Is this the right place? Are these the right people? Will they take care of me? Will they see me? Then she heard her name. Here goes. And perhaps you've felt that too. You look up and someon

Patients do not experience dentistry in separate compartments. They do not distinguish between the clinician, the receptionist, the treatment coordinator, the delayed appointment, the unanswered email, or the technology behind the scenes. To a patient, it is all one experience. And at the centre of that experience is a simple emotional question: “Do I feel looked after here?” Recently, I found myself thinking about this while walking through a large sports retail store near m

It was a normal busy day at the clinic. One of those days that is busy enough that you forget to look out the window to check the weather, but not so busy that you cannot catch up. Patients in. Patients out. Routine conversations. Routine treatments. The steady rhythm dentistry often settles into. Then a lovely patient came in, new to the practice. An 80-year-old man with kind eyes and the calmness of someone who has lived a great deal of life. He apologised almost immediatel

If you have ever watched a medical drama on TV, you can probably remember those moments when someone gets to the hospital and their world almost stops. Much like suddenly, it all moves in slow motion. The background music intensifies as they take it all in. I reality, dentistry isn't that different. You're not inside a TV show. And the world doesn't really go into slow motion. However, everyone is busy in their routine day to day jobs. You just walked in - nervous and not qui

It starts with a photo. You’re scrolling through pictures from a night out—nothing unusual, just a group shot, everyone leaning in, mid-laughter. You look at it for a second longer than the others. Then you see it. Your smile. Not quite like theirs. Not as easy. Not as open. Something about it makes you pause. Later, you find yourself in the mirror. Pulling your lip back slightly. Tilting your head. Looking a bit closer than usual. It’s nothing dramatic. Just… noticing. A few

There’s something deeply human about wanting a fresh start. We wait for it — January, Mondays, birthdays. A moment where we can quietly say: I’ll try again. But often, life doesn’t feel that clean. We carry guilt, avoidance, embarrassment… especially when it comes to our health. And dentistry is one of the places where this shows up most. “I know I should have come sooner.” “I’ve let things get bad.” “I feel embarrassed.” These aren’t clinical statements. They’re emotional on

The door feels heavier than it should. For a moment, it almost resembles a threshold more than an entrance. A quiet crossing into something unknown. You don’t know exactly what waits on the other side, only that once you step through, turning back won’t feel as simple. There’s a heaviness in your stomach. A slight unsteadiness in your legs. As if your body is asking a question your mind is trying to ignore. 'Are you sure? Are you safe?' When the door opens, it isn’t a voice t

“That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. … Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been.” By C Dickens in Great Expectations I have often returned to this line when reflecting on my own path into dentistry. Because, like that sentiment suggests, my life too seems to hinge on a handful of days—quiet, ordinary moments that, without warning, changed everything. One of those days began in a place I had alwa

"Nothing personal, but I just really hate the dentist." It’s one of the most common phrases I hear when meeting a patient for the first time. It’s often said with a nervous laugh, sometimes with an apology, occasionally with a kind of pre-emptive defence — as if to soften what comes next. And I always find it interesting. Because we don’t begin many relationships this way. We don’t sit in the hairdresser’s chair and say, “Nothing personal, I just hate hairdressers.” - Even th