American View: For want of a checklist a weekend was lost

Management

This column is a bit late, thanks in large part to the poor execution of an office’s business continuity process handover. I’m not mad about what happened but I am disappointed … and sore … and famished. Let me explain.

Back in January, my dentist recommended that I get a crown to address the degeneration of one of my top molars. The tooth had been fixed decades ago and the older technique my childhood dentist had used was breaking down. If we didn’t lop off the chewing surface, she warned me, it was very likely that the molar would crack or shatter. It was best, she advised, to get a stronger, long-term replacement installed before we needed emergency treatment. I agreed.

Everything started out normal. My dentist sawed off the top half of my bothersome molar, filed the base down to a miniature Myan pyramid-looking nub, and glued a temporary crown on said nub to hold me over until a permanent crown could be crafted. I’d wear the temp for at or about three weeks, she explained, then ponce the permanent crown was cemented down we’d be set for the next fifty years.

Except, no. Three weeks later, when my dentist tried to install the permanent crown, the darned thing broke. One whole side of the artificial tooth came apart like a wine glass chucked off a balcony. Everyone grumbled and the temporary crown went back on.

We tried this again a month later after ordering a new crown. Exactly the same thing happened! The new “permanent” crown – bigger, stronger, etc. – broke in half while my dentist was trying to wedge it into place. Back on went the temp. We were all tired of the continued delays but tried to stay positive.

While waiting for the third “permanent” crown, my faithful temporary crown bit the dust (so to speak) and had to be replaced. To be fair, it had served far longer than it was rated for.

That temporary crown had darned well earned its chance to go putter around in a shed for the rest of its days.

Then – finally! – we managed to install a permanent crown that stayed in one piece during fitting. It felt right, chewed normally, and didn’t hurt. Everyone cheered … which probably jinxed it. The bloody thing lasted a whopping three days before shattering. The front side remained intact, while the top of the back half committed sepu-chew. Calved off like an iceberg in a nature video.

Two weeks later, my dentist jackhammered her third attempt at a “permanent” crown out of my skull and installed another temporary crown in its place. Nothing needed to be said. As I joked with my hygienist, “you don’t have to explain the process; I know the drill.” That was a month ago. My fourth permanent crown isn’t due in until mid-May. Everything should have been fine.

SIGH …

So, there I was this last weekend, minding my own business. Just me, my puppy, and my temporary crown. I’d planned to write a column about a new scam. I’d blocked off time when everyone would be out of the house to get it written. I was “on time, on target” as my old bomber pilot buddy used to say. Then … it happened: I was finishing my last bite of a tortilla when my bloody temporary crown just … fell the £#$% out of my mouth!

There had been no warning; no twisting or popping or cracking or slippage. None of the signs that a temp was about to lose its grip. The blasted thing just plopped out on to the table like it was trying to escape Mouth-catraz prison. Over the incisors and away into the night, lads!

Unlike the previous times I’d had the pyramidal tooth nub uncovered, this time the remnant was hypersensitive. I took a deep breath and suddenly regretted being alive. My skull lit up like I’d been tased in the face as the extremely upset tooth nub let me know it was sick of my £#$%. After some experimentation, I realized I couldn’t eat anything, drink anything, or even breathe through my mouth without getting completely tongue-tazed.^[1]

“Back off, creep!” [BZZRRRT!] “What the hell, tooth?!? I’m just a tortilla chip!”

I tried using an emergency “glue it yourself!” dental repair kit from the chemist down the road. Couldn’t make it work thanks to the pain; the nub sent spikes of pain through my skull every time the nub contacted something. I figured it was time to call in the professionals.

Fortunately, I’m well trained on my dentist’s process for reporting issues outside of regular business hours. I left a voicemail on their main phone as a courtesy, then left another one on their after-hours “emergency line.” This secondary line is supposed to be monitored from 08.00-20.00 every day, rain or shine. Usually this would get me a call back within an hour (at the most) and possibly even an urgent appointment.

Instead … nothing happened.

I waited an hour-and-a-half then left them a second message. This time I added a joke.

I waited another hour-and-a-half then left them a third message. Two jokes this time.

Another two hours, another message. Then a fourth three hours after that.

Nothing. Just me with my mouth clamped shut to mollify an extremely distressed nub.

I didn’t get a call from my dentist’s office until Monday morning when the lead admin tech listened to the courtesy message I’d left on their main office line. To the admin tech’s credit, they got me in as soon as a gap appeared in their schedule. They got my throbbing tooth nub sorted in less than a half hour and didn’t charge me a thing for the service.

Incidentally, I learned what had happened while chatting with my usual dental tech. After she’d glued my recaptured temporary crown into place, she asked me why I hadn’t phoned their emergency line over the weekend. Holding back a lot of pent-up frustration, I told her that I had called them … five times.

Kinda tough to concentrate on what you’re writing when your teeth randomly interrupt you every few minutes with an ELECTRIC SCREECH. Hence, why I’m running a bit behind.

To be fair, my usual dental tech is a sweet human being as well as a seasoned chomper mechanic. She was naturally horrified, doubly so since she had been the staffer monitoring the “emergency line” (which is just a company mobile phone) all weekend. She unlocked the phone in front of me, saw all my voicemails, and blushed like a neon strawberry. She swore to me that she’d never heard the phone ring all weekend. I believed her.

She dragged me to the main desk where the admin techs investigated the problem and discovered that while the “emergency line” wasn’t set to “silent” mode, its ringer volume had been accidentally turned down to zero. So, the phone had been ringing every time I’d called … but hadn’t made any noise. Most likely, the screen had flashed … not something you’d notice in pocket or a bag. More importantly, the phone hadn’t vibrated as it would’ve if it’d been placed in silent mode. The end result was that its wielder had never noticed that she’d been called.

This is what I meant at the top of this column as “the poor execution of an office’s business continuity process handover.” It was my usual dental tech’s turn to monitor the “emergency line” this last weekend. She’d taken control of the handset last Friday afternoon. She checked to see that it was on and was fully charged, then and dropped it in her bag and went home. She kept close control of the handset all weekend and made sure it was always close enough for her to hear it ring.

What she hadn’t done was to function check the phone before leaving the office. A basic function check would’ve revealed the handset’s improper volume setting. All she’d needed to do was to call the “emergency line” phone from her personal phone or from the office phone and make sure it would ring. It’s a simple, 15 second test. That – or something like it – should have been standard operating procedure for everyone assigned to weekend call duty.

Even when you’re confident that the phone is working fine, you still test it before leaving for the weekend.

Fortunately for me, I can eat again (after a very uncomfortable weekend). Fortunately for my dentist, her staff have learned a valuable lesson on continuity of operations and disciplined process handover. Hopefully this mistake won’t happen again in their office for a long time. So long as it stays sorted until I finally get my permanent crown installed, I’ll be happy.

^[1] Adding insult to injury, my mother-in-law’s 80th birthday dinner was Sunday evening. I had to sit cheerfully through the entire meal without being able to eat or drink anything.