Drug Dealing Dentist
How could an educated dentist like me end up in jail? My family asked. And, as I sat in my cold jail cell, I also wondered.
My life, my career, all flushed down the toilet. And to think, I had it all. My greed took me to the path of drug dealer. I was no better than those crack-head dealers on the street.
It started innocent enough. A patient was in “excruciating” pain and wanted another round of narcotics. “Nope,” I said. “I never give refills.”
“But, Doctor, I am in so much pain.”
“Your mouth looks fine,” I said, glancing at him.
He brought two Benjamins out of his pocket. “Come on. The pain is too much. It is worth two hundred dollars if you can just stop the pain.”
I looked at the crisp bills he waved in my face. I am a Dentist. I don’t need your money. But then I thought about the dinner my wife and I had later that night. She had invited her annoying best friend, and I knew we would foot the bill. The idea of paying for her friend, whom I couldn’t stand, festered in me like a pile of fermented kimchi. If I took the two hundred, that would cover the bill. My patient George most likely was in pain anyway. “It really is the ethical thing to do,” I lied in my head as I wrote the script.
And like that, I wrote thousands of scripts for George. He always had different names for me. It was the easiest money I ever made. He told me what to write and the exact strength, and I wrote it. I didn’t allow my mind to have a conscious. I enjoyed the stint for four years. My income tripled. It was lovely, really. But, like all illegal business, it crashed down on me. And I got locked away for seven years.
Seven years! I would miss my two children’s graduation, and they would move out before my release date. What have I done?
During my first two years in jail, I was a miserable man. I felt superior to every inmate there. I walked with arrogance and looked down on everyone. How could a professional like me be locked in a den of thieves? Thankfully, my new cellmate Marcus cut me down to size during my third year. He let me know I was nothing. And I am thankful for that.
His beating sent me to the infirmary, yet we became friends. He opened my eyes to the stories of the inmates with whom we shared our limited world. He painted their lives and hardships on my heart. I soon discovered that most people there were good. They had just done bad things. And when I learned that, my world changed.
I volunteered to help teach my inmates life skills. Watching someone who had never learned to read fueled a fire within. I gave every spare minute I had to the betterment of others. And I almost didn’t want to leave when my seven years had ended.
My influence brought hope and joy to most men I worked with. I saw thirty men get their GED because of me. I helped some inmates research legal matters where they could appeal for their freedom. I recorded fifteen personal histories that fathers could share with their children. I made a difference.
When I was released, I struggled in my new role. No one needed me. My children had moved out of state. My wife had carved a new life that had no room for me. I sat in glum for six months when my old cellmate, Marcus, visited me.
“I have no meaning,” I moaned.
“Get over yourself,” he growled. Marcus never allowed me to have a pity party. “Get your butt back in the jail and volunteer.”
And that is what I did.
Meanwhile, with lots of work, I reinstated my dental license. I opened my practice to the uninsured one Wednesday, charity day. I spent Sundays in the jail teaching men to read. And on Thursday evenings, I served at the soup kitchen.
As I think back over the last ten years of my life, I thank God that I went to jail daily. Before jail, I was a pompous man. I was a dentist to make money, not to help people. Going to jail gave me the best education that ever happened to me. I learned to value every person I met. I stopped judging others, for I had learned that every person has a story, a reason they went down the path they did. And honestly, most people in jail had noble stories about their descent into crime. Not me. I was just selfish.
So, how could a dentist like me end up in jail?
-By divine intervention.
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Drug Dealing Dentist
by Stephanie Daich
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