It was Christmas Eve, and I had drawn the short straw; now I was the "on-call doctor" for our dental group.

"Hey, don’t worry about it," advised my colleague as he handed me the pager. "Everyone is so busy with their own Christmas plans, no one will ever call you."

I hoped he was right. As I drove home the car radio played "I’ll be home for Christmas," and I began to sing along: "I’m on-call for Christmas, you can count on me.…"

When I walked in the front door there was a whirlwind of activity going on as my wife finished preparations for the special family dinner for our visiting relatives. Finally we sat down to the first course of baked acorn squash soup. No sooner had the bowls been removed and the main course served than the beep of the pager jolted me.

"Who is calling me on Christmas Eve?" I snarled. "They can just wait until I’m finished eating."

I cleaned my plate, but really didn’t taste another bite. Excusing myself, I reluctantly dialed the number and a woman answered the phone. Between sobs, she told me she had started calling every dentist in the phone book, and that I was the only one to call her back. She told me she had a broken tooth and that tonight it had gotten really bad. She was desperate and in excruciating pain.

"It sounds like you probably need a root canal," I explained to her. "I ’ll meet you at my office in 45 minutes." I kicked myself as I said that. It would ruin Christmas Eve with my family. With 30 minutes' drive to the office, perhaps an hour or more with the patient, and 30 minutes more to drive home, it would be after 10 before I returned.

"What is it?" asked my wife.

"Some idiot has had a problem for months and just decided on Christmas Eve that it needs to be fixed!" I fumed as stormed out of the house.

On the drive to the office, I heard the song again and I joined in: "I’m on-call for Christmas, you can count on me." I furiously pounded the steering wheel as I sang.

When I arrived at the office and began to unlock the front door, I heard someone approaching. I turned and saw a very pregnant woman walking slowly toward me.

"Are you Mary?" I asked.

"Yes, thank you for coming out to help me," she began.

"When are you due?"

"Any minute now," she explained.

My anger quickly vanished and I felt ashamed for being so upset by this emergency.

"Well, come on in. At least we’ll get your tooth fixed up," I told her.

Her lower left second bicuspid was badly decayed and would need root canal treatment. I explained I would start the procedure and finish after her baby was born.

And so, Mary, the unborn babe, and I spent Christmas Eve together, working on a bad tooth.

I thought of another time, another Mary, and the unborn Jesus. They would have had a very bad night that first Christmas Eve had it not been for the kindness of a stranger—a caring innkeeper who took pity on them, and let them use his stable.

"Okay, Tylenol should take care of any pain from the procedure. I think you’ll do fine. Give me a call in a few weeks and we’ll finish the root canal," I told Mary.

"Thank you very much for helping me," she replied. "I’m sorry I ruined your Christmas Eve."

Ruined? Well, the evening had not turned out as I expected, but I felt as if I had been called upon to play the modern role of the kindly innkeeper—to help Mary in her hour of need.

Ruined? No, my Christmas Eve had been enriched. In some ways it was almost like being part of the first Christmas.

EMAIL THIS ARTICLE