From One Small Clinic to a Lasting Commitment

Sometime early in 2016, I was in conversation with Mr. Malcolm Bennett. At the time, it felt like a routine professional exchange. Only later did I learn that he was the Chairman of the Board of Operation Walk Canada. The discussion was legal in nature until a phone call interrupted us—Dr. Miguel Arango was on the line. When Mr. Bennett hung up, the conversation shifted. What followed would quietly redirect the course of my life.

By October of that year, I was on my way to Antigua, Guatemala, travelling alongside Operation Walk Canada volunteers as they prepared to replace hips and knees for members of local communities. I was going for a different reason: to participate in a pediatric dental mission. I packed a hockey bag full of dental supplies, not entirely sure what I would need—or what I was walking into.

A Mission Begins

The clinic was small, about fifteen by thirty feet, with a bathroom tucked into one corner. The facilities were basic but functional. The X-ray unit sat right beside the toilet; its seat cover had to be placed down so patients could sit while images were taken. It wasn’t what I was used to, but it worked. And that was enough.

The language barrier was immediate. The local dentist, who assisted in the clinic, spoke little English; her assistant spoke none. I spoke no Spanish. And yet, with the help of a very patient translator and a great deal of goodwill on all sides, we found ways to communicate. Dentistry, it turns out, has its own language. Over those first days, we managed to provide care to a remarkable number of children.

That first year, an acquaintance of Dr. Arango joined the mission as well. Together, we quickly realized the depth of the need. The level of oral disease among the children was striking, as were the obstacles they faced in accessing care. Supplies were limited and sometimes nonexistent. Improvisation became routine. Resourcefulness and patience weren’t optional—they were essential.

What surprised me most, though, came after clinic hours. In quiet conversations and shared meals, it became clear that every volunteer was there for the same reason. No one was paid. Many had taken time away from their own practices, families, and responsibilities simply to be of service. There was a shared humility in that, and it stayed with me.

It wasn’t until we returned home that the full impact of the mission began to settle in. In conversations reflecting on the experience, I began to understand how meaningful our presence had been. The gratitude shown by the local staff, physicians, and the Operation Walk Canada team was overwhelming.

Returning the following year felt inevitable. By our third trip, the clinic had transformed. The small space we once worked in had been replaced by a larger area within the hospital, now outfitted with three fully functioning dental chairs and proper lighting. I had donated a Statim sterilizer, a small contribution that made an enormous difference in how we managed instruments and patient flow.

Growing Beyond Ourselves

For several years, interest from home was limited. Then Dr. Clive Friedman and Ms. Maureen Prevette decided to join me. Word spread. Friends, colleagues, and contacts within dental supply companies began donating instruments and materials. With each contribution, we were able to provide better, more comprehensive care.

Occasionally, the orthopedic team would ask if we could see a patient whose dental condition threatened to delay surgery. The answer was always yes. Those moments mattered deeply. Ensuring someone could proceed with a life-altering joint replacement by addressing an urgent dental issue felt like a quiet but powerful act of advocacy.

The pandemic and civil unrest disrupted everything. Missions were postponed, plans unravelled, and momentum stalled. But in 2024, new possibilities emerged. We were granted access to an operating room, allowing us to treat children whose dental and medical complexity made routine clinical care impossible. For those patients, this wasn’t just an expansion of services—it was access where none had existed before.

A New Phase

With the support of Operation Walk Canada and local leadership, our mission entered a new phase. By 2025, it was clear that there was space—and a responsibility—to continue treating children both in the clinic and in the operating room. Growth, however, brought challenges. Our dental team grew to fourteen people. The logistical and financial demands became too great for Operation Walk Canada to sustain.

And so another decision was made—this one both difficult and necessary. With their support, the dental mission would become autonomous, administratively and financially. In 2026, we would begin the transition toward becoming a self-sustaining organization, to achieve charitable status.

As I write this, the work of building something sustainable is still underway. There are meetings, spreadsheets, logistics, and decisions that feel far removed from that first small clinic in Antigua. Growth brings complexity, and with it a kind of distance from the simplicity of those early days.

And yet, when I think back to why any of this exists, my mind doesn’t go to organizational charts or future plans. It goes to that original room—fifteen by thirty feet, a dental X-ray unit squeezed beside a toilet, a child sitting patiently while we figured things out as best we could. It goes to moments of shared understanding that required no common language.

Over time, the mission has expanded, professionalized, and taken on a life of its own. But the core of it has not changed. What began as an act of service has become a responsibility—one shaped by trust, by need, and by the quiet expectations of families who return year after year believing we will be there.

I have learned that progress does not always arrive loudly. Sometimes it shows up in small improvements, in borrowed equipment, in donated instruments, in the steady willingness of people to keep showing up. Sometimes it shows up in the decision to stay when leaving would be easier.

At its heart, this work has never been about dentistry alone. It is about presence. It is about meeting children where they are and offering relief, dignity, and care without conditions. That belief guided us in the beginning, and it continues to guide every decision we make.

And so here we are.

I sometimes think about that phone call and how easily it could have ended differently. It could have remained just another interruption in an ordinary day. Instead, it became the first note in a story that continues to unfold.

No child who presents for care during our mission will ever be turned away. That promise was not written into any formal plan at the beginning, but it has been there all along—quietly waiting to be answered, much like a ringing phone.

January 2026

Dr. Olaf Plotzke