It all started like a flu.
Nothing dramatic, nothing obvious. Just a strange sense that my body wasn’t quite itself. Something was off, but quietly so. I didn’t feel like me, yet there were no clear symptoms I could point to. So I ignored it.
Then Thursday morning arrived, and I woke up knowing.
This wasn’t a flu. This wasn’t a virus. This was dental.
That realization came with a second problem attached. I needed a dentist urgently, and I didn’t have one. My previous dentist had ghosted me completely. First they didn’t believe me, and when they saw the hard evidence, they disappeared. Three years of a professional relationship ended just like that. After that experience, I avoided dentists altogether for a year. I didn’t want to deal with any of it. Until my body left me no choice.
So I searched in Málaga and narrowed it down to three clinics. I made a decision that might sound superficial, but felt intuitive. If a clinic cared about its space, its design, its atmosphere, maybe it also cared about people. I called all three. Only one responded. They offered me an appointment the same day.
I went in with a theory. I suspected a tooth that needed a root canal. I didn’t feel pain. There was no visible damage. But there was something, and that something didn’t feel right.
From the moment I walked in, I felt at ease. The staff were warm, kind, present. The first dentist examined me, reviewed the X-rays, and grew visibly uncertain. No pain. No clear signs. Nothing obvious to explain what I was describing. I could sense the doubt creeping in, not unkindly, but unmistakably. When cases don’t fit familiar patterns, uncertainty tends to do that.
Rather than dismissing me or sending me away, he paused. He questioned his own conclusions. Then he called in the surgeon.
There is an important reason why situations like this are complicated for me, and it is something that rarely fits neatly into medical conversations. I have nerve damage in my jaw. It affects how my body processes sensation, inflammation, and pain, and it complicates almost everything. My daily life, my dental care, and how professionals respond to me.
Nervous systems are complex infrastructures, and mine no longer reacts in simple or predictable ways. In my case, certain triggers such as spicy food, caffeine, artificial sweeteners, or other substances my body can no longer tolerate will cause systemic inflammation. That inflammation, in turn, activates intense nerve pain in my jaw and face.
At the same time, when there is an actual dental problem, I often feel nothing at all. No classic toothache. No warning pain. No obvious signal that something is wrong.
This contradiction creates problems. Some dentists panic because my reactions don’t follow expected patterns. Others do the opposite and dismiss me entirely. If there is no pain and the X-rays don’t show much, they assume there is no issue. My body doesn’t behave the way it is supposed to, and that makes me easy to misunderstand.
But lack of pain does not mean lack of pathology. And unusual symptoms do not mean imaginary ones.
The surgeon approached the case differently. He listened carefully. He tested the tooth instead of relying solely on the images. He paid attention to what I was saying rather than trying to force my symptoms into a familiar framework.
And there it was.
A dead tooth.
Sitting quietly in my jaw. Not yet visible on X-rays, still in the early stages of decay, but already enough to make me ill. Enough to cause flu-like symptoms and strange sensations throughout my body.
I realized I was actually grateful that my old dentist had ghosted me. Because if I had gone there, I know exactly how it would have played out. I would have described my symptoms. They would have told me it was nothing. I would have been sent home to wait, to doubt myself, to get worse until the problem finally became obvious enough to be believed.
This new clinic did something different. They listened. They cared. For the first time, a medical professional said, in essence, you know your body. I believe you. Let’s explore every possibility.
And we found the answer.
What this experience taught me is simple, but non-negotiable. Not everyone, even in the medical field, has the capacity to truly listen. Not everyone believes patients, especially when symptoms are unusual, invisible, or don’t fit neatly into textbooks.
From now on, if a medical professional doesn’t listen to me, à la poubelle. I will look someone who listens and believes me.
Everything is good now. I have found the right clinic. I have found safety again. And I can finally leave the old experiences behind, looking forward with the certainty that I deserve people who listen, who believe, and who take me seriously.