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Carrie
By Stephanie Kemp
Carrie
By Stephanie Kemp
One of my favorite people on the planet is my dental hygienist, Carrie.
This is worth noting not because she is my dental hygienist, but because she became this person to me even though she usually has her hands in my mouth, rendering me largely speechless as I stare at a fake humming bird frozen mid-flight in a fluorescent sky dangling above me forever stuck in ceiling tile.
I am also helpless.
And anxious. (I don’t like to floss, plus she always has to lift up my tongue to see if I have cancer).
Despite my verbal challenges (not to mention the fact that Carrie is covered in a mask, goggles, a face shield, gloves and a head cap that somehow still manages to look good on her), we talk about everything: being moms, being daughters, being married, being not, being friends, only wearing jeans (me) or never wearing jeans (Carrie), tattoos, online dating, ex-es, futures, careers, potential alternate careers, end of careers, fears, absurdities, things that make us laugh, things that make us weep. (We only weep sometimes, but help each other recover quickly.)
Mostly we laugh and laugh. And going to the dentist is always a good day for me, which is saying something (about Carrie). Especially because I don’t floss.
It is her birthday today. I found that out on Facebook this morning, even though I didn’t like it. (The post, not that it was her birthday).
I was at the bookstore with my daughter this afternoon and saw a tiny snow globe with a koala bear in it that made me laugh because it was so ridiculous. I bought it for Carrie, as I will be seeing her tomorrow for an emergency appointment because of a crown that got sucked out of my face by a vindictive caramel over Thanksgiving.
My daughter thought Carrie would love it. (Carrie also looks for cancer in my daughter’s mouth.)
“But Mom, just so you know? It’s a raccoon.”
(I also need glasses, but this has nothing to do with Carrie, so I think I’ll call it a night.)
I will be very happy when my tooth is fixed.
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This is worth noting not because she is my dental hygienist, but because she became this person to me even though she usually has her hands in my mouth, rendering me largely speechless as I stare at a fake humming bird frozen mid-flight in a fluorescent sky dangling above me forever stuck in ceiling tile.
I am also helpless.
And anxious. (I don’t like to floss, plus she always has to lift up my tongue to see if I have cancer).
Despite my verbal challenges (not to mention the fact that Carrie is covered in a mask, goggles, a face shield, gloves and a head cap that somehow still manages to look good on her), we talk about everything: being moms, being daughters, being married, being not, being friends, only wearing jeans (me) or never wearing jeans (Carrie), tattoos, online dating, ex-es, futures, careers, potential alternate careers, end of careers, fears, absurdities, things that make us laugh, things that make us weep. (We only weep sometimes, but help each other recover quickly.)
Mostly we laugh and laugh. And going to the dentist is always a good day for me, which is saying something (about Carrie). Especially because I don’t floss.
It is her birthday today. I found that out on Facebook this morning, even though I didn’t like it. (The post, not that it was her birthday).
I was at the bookstore with my daughter this afternoon and saw a tiny snow globe with a koala bear in it that made me laugh because it was so ridiculous. I bought it for Carrie, as I will be seeing her tomorrow for an emergency appointment because of a crown that got sucked out of my face by a vindictive caramel over Thanksgiving.
My daughter thought Carrie would love it. (Carrie also looks for cancer in my daughter’s mouth.)
“But Mom, just so you know? It’s a raccoon.”
(I also need glasses, but this has nothing to do with Carrie, so I think I’ll call it a night.)
I will be very happy when my tooth is fixed.
