One of the most bizarrely cool people Iāve ever met was an oral surgeon who treated me after a ridiculous accident (thatās another story), Dr. Z.
Dr. Z. was, easily, the best and most competent doctor or dentist Iāve ever encountered ā and after that accident, I encountered quite a number. He came stunningly highly recommended, had an excellent record, and the most calming bedside manner Iāve ever seen.
That last wasnāt the sweet gentle caretaking sort of manner, which some nurses have but you wouldnāt expect to see in a surgeon. No; when Dr. Z. told me that one of my broken molars was too badly damaged to save, and I (being seventeen and still moderately in shock) broke down crying, he stared at me incredulously and said, in a tone of utter bemusement, āBut ā I am very good.ā
I stopped crying on the spot. In the last twenty-four hours or so of one doctor after another, no one had said anything that reassuring to me. He clearly just knew his own competence so well that the idea of someone being scared anyway was literally incomprehensible to him. What more could I possibly ask for?
(He was right. The procedure was very extended, because the tooth that needed to be removed was in bits, but there was zero pain at any point. And, as he promised, my teeth were so close together that they shifted to fill the gap to where there genuinely is none anymore, itās just a little easier to floss on that side.)
But Dr. Z.ās insane competence wasnāt just limited to oral surgery.
When I met Dr. Z., he, like most doctors Iāve had, asked me if I was in college, and where, and what I was studying. When I say āmath,ā most doctors respond with āoh, wow, good for youā or possibly āwhat do you want to do with that after college?ā
Dr. Z. wanted to know what kind of math.
I gave him the thirty-second laymanās summary that I give people who are foolish enough to ask that. He responded with āoh, you meanāā and the correct technical terms. I confirmed that was indeed what I meant (and keep in mind, this was upper-division college math, you donāt take this unless youāre a math major). He asked cogent follow-up questions, and there ensued ten or so minutes of what Iād call āsmall talkā except for how it was an intensely technical mathematical discussion.
He didnāt, as far as I can tell, have any kind of formal math background. He just ā¦ knew stuff.
I was a competitive fencer at this point in time, so when he asked if I had any questions about the surgery that would be necessary, I asked him if Iād be okay to fence while I had my jaw wired shut, or if it would interfere with breathing.
āYes,ā I said, ālike swordfighting,ā because this is another conversation I got to have a lot. (People assume theyāve misheard you, or occasionally they think you mean building fences.)
āNo, it wonāt be safe,ā and he went off into an explanation of why.
Turns out, he was also a serious fencer ā and, when I mentioned my fencing coach, an old friend of his. (I asked my fencing coach later, and, oh yes, Dr. Z., a good friend of mine, excellent fencer.) (My coach was French. Dr. Z. was Israeli. I never saw Dr. Z. around the club or anything. I have no idea how they knew each other.)
So this was weird enough that later, when I was home, I looked Dr. Z. up on Yelp. His reviews were stellar, of course, but that wasnāt the weird thing.
The weird thing was that the reviews were full of people ā professionals in lots of different fields ā saying the same thing: I went to Dr. Z. for oral surgery, and he asked me about what I did, and it turned out he knew all about my field and had a competent and educated discussion with me about the obscure technical details of such-and-such.
All sorts of different fields, saying this. Lawyers. Businessmen. Musicians.
As far as I can tell, itās not that I just happened to be pursuing the two fields he had a serious amateur interest in ā he just seemed to be extremely good at literally everything.
I have no explanation for this. Possibly he sold his soul to the devil.
He did a damn good job on my surgery.
