The days at our make-shift dental office in Ukraine were crazy, but what I remember most was how rewarding it was to make friends with the children.  Very little was actually communicated with my patients through the translators.  I discovered the best way to talk with a little kid was through sound effects.  I became a master at silly sounds.  Most of them didn’t know what to expect in a dental chair, so the frightening parts were the loud noises of the suction, air hose, and drill.  I would start by showing them the air nozzle and make a puffing noise.  Then I would use it to puff their arm and then blow around their hair.  That usually would get a shy smile.  Next I would make the guttural suction noise and stick the suction tube to their palm to feel the pull.  About the time they were looking comfortable with that, I would tickle their sides with it and make them giggle.  Next I would show them a dental drill (with nothing sharp in it), whistle for them, let them hear the real noise, and feel the air and the vibration with their fingers.  Any new instrument I would “test out” on their thumbnail first before trying it on their teeth so they got the idea that nothing hurts.  We would end up playing games for quite a while before actually getting started.  I felt all the effort was totally worth it if I was able to make a friend and get them to smile.

My favorite sound effect came from the Ukrainian word “crocodile.”  Not only was it the greatest word for getting kids to open their mouths super wide, but it was hysterically funny to open our mouths and growl at each other while doing it.

Even with all this going on, I had a sense I was being watched.  I noticed a severe looking man sitting in the corner watching the proceedings of our day.  My first response was to look more “professional” while doing my work, but then sweet six year old Anya broke into giggles. My “professional” persona dissolved and I broke into giggles with her.  I didn’t know why the man was watching us or what he was looking for, but I found myself secretly watching him back.  He never spoke to anyone.  I could not figure it out.

One morning while working on a very cute and polite nine year old boy, the two of us struck up the “normal” conversation of whistles and puffs and growls.  Before too long, I discovered how ticklish he was with the air nozzle and how I could work him into fits of laughter.  We were both in stitches, holding our aching sides.  

But before I could start working the mystery man in the corner was up on his feet jumping around.  I had to stop and watch.  He danced wildly around trying to find a translator.  Cornering one, the old man yammered at him like crazy.  I didn’t know if I had done something to set him off.  Was it my unprofessionalism?  Did he think I should have been working faster instead of playing games?  Worried, I sat staring.

The man and the translator kept looking at me intently from across the room, and finally came over to where I was awaiting my scolding.  The old man would not stop talking, even when the translator was trying to tell me what he said.  I was horrified I had caused an international incident by tickling a nine year old boy.

Slowly, the words were forming through the jumble of the equipment noise, the stream of adamant Ukrainian, and the halting English that the poor college student was trying to get out.

“This is my grandson.  Americans have been our enemies for years.”  

Family ties and a Cold War.  This was not a good beginning.  

Tags: Ukraine