This Childhood Accident Led Me to Dental School—and a Dental Implant

Today, I want to share a story—not just about teeth or dentistry, but about life, pain, and the importance of people around us.

When I was seven years old, I had an accident that changed more than I realized at the time.

Like most kids back then, I rode a BMX bicycle. Those who grew up in that era would remember—no proper brakes, just speed and bravery. One day, I was racing with my older brother. He looked calm and kind on the outside, but that day, his competitive spirit was something else.

As kids, we didn’t know fear. We rode as fast as we could.

There was a sharp corner I forgot about. I lost control. My brother crashed into me from behind. The next thing I remember, I was thrown onto the road. I slid almost three meters before stopping.

I didn’t faint, but my face was badly injured. I had scars, and one of my front teeth was fractured. At that moment, I wasn’t even thinking about my teeth—I was just a scared child in pain.

My parents had just returned from the market. When they saw me, they were shocked. They rushed me to the hospital in Kluang. The dentist told us that my tooth needed a filling. Dental technology back then wasn’t advanced, so we went ahead with a simple filling.

The tooth remained sensitive, but life went on. I went back to school. I grew up. I never thought much about that tooth again.

Years later, I entered dental school at UiTM.

During my first year, one of my seniors—a fifth-year student—asked if I would allow her to examine and treat my teeth for her clinical case. I agreed. I thought, Why not? One day I’ll need help from juniors too.

She examined my tooth carefully and said something unexpected:
“There’s an infection at the tip of this tooth.”

I was confused. I hadn’t felt serious pain. I hadn’t eaten anything strange. Then she asked if I had ever experienced trauma—an accident, a fall, or a collision.

That’s when I remembered the BMX accident.

She explained that the trauma from childhood had caused damage inside the tooth, leading to an infection years later. The solution was root canal treatment.

At that time, I didn’t fully understand what root canal treatment meant. I was still new—fresh into dental school, like a newborn baby in the profession. So I just opened my mouth and trusted my senior.

The treatment took several visits. Being in dental school made it easier—no travel, no extra cost. After it was completed, I thought the issue was finally solved.

Life moved forward.
Second year. Third year. Fourth year. Fifth year.
I graduated.

Later, I wore braces to correct alignment issues related to the old trauma. My teeth were handled by multiple dentists—postgraduates, specialists from different universities, and finally, a specialist in Johor Bahru.

Eventually, I moved into private practice. I attended short courses—three months, six months—learning orthodontics and implants. That’s when curiosity struck me.

What actually happened to my tooth?

I took an X-ray.

That’s when I saw it—a fracture line at the root, what we call an apical third fracture. I started to feel discomfort. Fear, too.

And here’s the truth: doctors are often afraid to become patients themselves.

I delayed. I prayed. I hoped it would be okay.

But it got worse.

I had a friend from Australia—a dentist visiting Malaysia. I asked him to check my tooth. Deep down, I already knew the answer.

The fracture was real.

There was only one solution: extraction and implant.

So I surrendered. I lay back in the chair and became the patient.

The extraction was painful—far more painful than what we casually tell our patients. Half an hour of pressure, force, and silent prayers. Right after the extraction, an immediate implant was placed, along with bone grafting.

I knew the consequences—swelling, pain, discomfort.

That evening, I went home to my wife and two daughters. My eldest daughter was especially caring. She brought me cold water, asked if I needed a blanket, and whispered, “Poor daddy.”

That night, the pain pulsed relentlessly. The next day, my face was swollen. For the first time, I truly felt what my patients feel.

Over time, the pain settled. The implant healed.

Friends joked about my missing tooth. During COVID, face masks saved me from embarrassment—until dinners when masks came off and laughter followed.

But this story isn’t about teeth.

It’s about people.

At every stage of my life—from childhood to dental school, from being a student to becoming a dentist—I needed others. Parents. Seniors. Friends. Colleagues. Family.

No one survives alone.

So remember this:
Make friends wherever you go.
Avoid unnecessary enemies.
Because one day, you will need someone—and someone will need you.

Thank you.

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