Chapter 19
It was a full schedule on Tuesday morning and my first four patients came and went in a breeze. I was grateful for the busy day because it kept my anxiety from creeping in and made the hours fly by.
When lunchtime rolled around, I headed toward the break room and found Tyler sitting at the small plastic table. He was scrolling on his phone and eating a granola bar.
“Hey,” I said, slipping into the seat beside him before I could talk myself out of it.
Tyler looked up immediately and smiled. He scooted over, giving me more space to scooch in next to him. “Hey. How’s your day been?”
“Good,” I said. “Busy so far.”
“Busy’s good,” he said, nodding. “Makes the hours go faster.”
The silence between us was comfortable, easy even. With Jenn and Erica both out and Macey stuck with a patient, it was just the two of us. No noise. No chaos. Just the faint hum of the fridge and the soft buzz of the fluorescent lights.
Then Tyler turned toward me, his elbow resting on the table. He’d gotten a haircut a few days ago and looked to be growing out his scruff. It looked good on him, and I couldn’t help but notice how warm his eyes were.
“So, Hope. What do you like to do outside of this place?” He gestured around us. “Because I refuse to believe that teeth are your personality.”
I laughed and felt myself shrug. “Um…I like to read.”
“Yeah? What kind of stuff?”
I flushed, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. Talking about my hobbies always made me feel awkward, as if I were admitting something childish. “Mostly women’s fiction. Some fantasy. Occasionally, a thriller if I’m feeling brave.”
“That’s awesome,” he said. The way he said "awesome" made it sound like he actually meant it, and I relaxed a little. Tyler was my friend. He was in the Flossy Posse group chat with me. I didn’t need to be nervous around him. But for some reason, talking at work felt different from talking at the bar after work over food and drinks. It wasn’t Tyler—I knew it had more to do with my anxiety surrounding the office than anything. It was just hard to fully relax here.
I felt like a gazelle out in the wild, the fear of a predator able to pounce at any moment. The break room was a watering hole of sorts, and if I let my guard down, would the apex predator descend?
“What about you?” I asked, nudging the conversation in a different direction while simultaneously pushing away images of lion documentaries from my mind. “What do you do when you’re not here at the office? You said you’re studying to be a nurse?”
He nodded, swallowing another bite of granola before continuing. “Yeah, I’m taking my undergraduate classes right now.”
“And what about when you’re not doing school?”
“I snowboard a bit. And I play guitar.”
My eyes widened. “Really? Like, actually play? Or I-once-learned-a-Jack-Johnson-song-for-a-girl-on-YouTube play?”
He laughed at that, and I found myself smiling.
“I actually play. But I’m curious now if that comment has a personal story attached.”
“Let’s just say I can’t listen to Banana Pancakes anymore.”
“Noted,” he grinned. “Sometimes I’ll do a little gig at a bar downtown or at a restaurant.”
I perked up. “You’ll have to let me know next time you play. I’d love to listen.”
Something flickered across his face—surprise, then something softer. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
“Are you telling girls about your little band again?” Macey announced as she suddenly appeared out of nowhere, making me jump a little.
Not the apex predator, Hope. Relax.
Tyler groaned. “It’s not a little band. It’s just me.”
“Exactly,” Macey said, dropping into the seat across from us. “Just you. Hence… little.”
I snorted, and Tyler shot me a faux-offended look that only made me laugh harder.
“You really should go see him, though,” Macey said as she ripped open her bag of carrots and celery and began munching. “He’s good at writing songs. Annoyingly good.”
Tyler nudged me gently with his shoulder. “You’d appreciate it more than she does. You actually like the written word.”
“I’d love to hear them,” I said.
Macey pouted. “I wish I liked reading. I find it boring.”
“She’s a ‘movie is better’ kind of girl,” Tyler said, giving me a pointed look. “She can’t be trusted.”
“Oh, please,” Macey rolled her eyes. “Some of us like visual storytelling, Tyler.”
I chuckled, and we continued to chat throughout the lunch hour. Jenn and Erica came in at one point and joined the conversation. I hadn't yet made a strong connection with them, but they were both really nice and helped a lot when they assisted.
Soon, though, it was time for my next patient, and I had to leave the group to get ready. As I was setting up, I thought I might get through the entire day without a hitch.
Four o’clock hit, and a woman named Rachel Woods came in. She was thirty-three, with her only medical alert being a sulfa drug allergy.
Erica brought her back after snapping some X-rays, and she seemed like a very nice woman.
After exchanging pleasantries, I leaned her back in the chair and began cleaning.
It was an SRP, as they called it—scaling and root planing—which was a little more intense than your average clean for a healthy patient.
I had to numb her before doing the deeper cleaning, and Rachel took the inferior alveolar nerve block like a champ.
SRPs took longer, so there were more breaks and plenty of time to chat in between. Rachel told me she and her husband were going on an Alaskan cruise soon for their anniversary, and what excursions she was looking forward to.
I listened intently and occasionally contributed to the conversation, and it was all going incredibly well. Nothing was better than ending the day with a nice, pleasant patient.
But then I was working on tooth number thirty-one—the very back molar on the lower right—and the filling in the crevice of Rachel’s tooth broke.
Popped. Snapped. Crumbled. Any of those words would’ve worked. The point was, it was no longer in her tooth.
I completely froze and couldn't breathe for a couple of long seconds.
I quickly grabbed a piece of gauze and removed the composite filling, placing it on my tray. I could hear my heart thundering in my ears.
I had never broken a filling before. Not once did I chip or break anything while I was cleaning. I immediately knew this was bad.
Rachel didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong, but I silently began to crumble into a million pieces.
“Everything okay?” Tyler asked as he came into the room to restock the gloves.
I quickly stood up from the chair, trying to focus on my breathing. Suddenly, I felt like I might pass out, and my fingertips began to go numb. It felt more intense than usual. This wasn’t just a little numbness.
I was having a panic attack.
“I’ll be back,” I mumbled, unable to give a further explanation.
All I could think was that Jay would be so angry.
I ran down the hall, searching for a place to escape, and grabbed a random door handle.
I found a supply closet and didn’t hesitate to close myself in next to the mops and cleaning supplies.
I locked the door and slid down to the floor, putting my head between my knees.
The smell of Pine-Sol and CaviWipes overwhelmed me, and the little closet was stuffy and hot, but I didn’t have the energy to care at the moment.
“Breathe,” I told myself.
How I wished I could command my body to stop freaking out.
“Breathe,” I said angrily to myself again.
But that was the thing about anxiety and panic attacks: my body refused to listen.
Logically, I knew I wasn’t dying, that if I could just start breathing correctly again, I’d be perfectly fine.
But my body refused to comply with my feeble attempts to relax.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I panted for air and struggled to make the numbness in my face and hands go away.
I began to shake, worry consuming me over what had just happened with my patient.
He’s not going to hurt you, I told myself. So why wasn’t my body listening?
A knock vibrated the door, and I jumped, lifting my head from between my knees. Who saw me run in here?
“Hope?” It was the muffled sound of Jay’s voice on the other side, and my fear sent an electric-like shock through my veins.
Memories of the instrument tray crashing to the ground and the painful sting on my cheek flooded my mind, causing another wave of panic to crash over me.
“Hope, are you okay in there?” Jay asked. “Open the door.”
I shook my head, not answering him.
“I broke her tooth, I broke her tooth,” I mumbled, shaking my head and clenching and unclenching my hand to try and get feeling back into it.
The door handle jangled, and I could hear him fumbling with the lock. I had yet to answer him. I should have run into the bathroom instead; then he would’ve just thought I was having a gastrointestinal emergency. But locking myself in the supply closet gave only one assumption: a mental breakdown.
I sucked in a breath. I had a feeling he was going to open the door if I didn’t, so I stood up on shaky legs, steeling myself for the inevitable, and unlocked the door.
After turning the lock, I moved to the other side of the closet and pressed myself against the shelving. The knob turned, and the door opened. I flinched, clutching the shelf in front of me, which held Windex and paper towels.
“Hope?” The mop bucket clanked against the wall as Jay entered the tiny closet. It was just the two of us now in the little Pine-Sol sauna.
“I’m sorry,” I said desperately, my eyes clenched shut.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said gently. He didn’t sound angry, but I still flinched when his hand touched my shoulder.
“I broke—” I sucked in a shaky breath. “That woman’s—” I desperately tried to inhale, but it didn’t feel like enough. “Filling.”
“Shhh,” he murmured. His hands brushed down my arms, and then he turned me around to face him. “I need you to take deep breaths with me, Hope.”