I arrive early, per usual. Two of us wear masks. Three of us chat about how we seem to all have appointments at roughly the same time with the same periodontist. I’m here for crown and tooth extraction and an implant.
They’ve double booked the 1:00 slot. They call the other patient in first.
The remaining woman and I chat the way women who’ve just met sometimes do — with a casual intimacy. We both have osteoporosis and a history of failed implants. She likes Waze. I do not. She’s a gym rat, doesn’t trust meds. I tend to rely on meds but agreed the science on fosomax is iffy. You get the idea.
But let’s go back a little.
Fifteen or so years ago, my dentist prescribed the anti-anxiety med diazepam for me. He got it. All these years later, I had one left. I was relying on it hard.
You know how when you’re anxious you make big and little preparations — TO BE READY?
I’d already had my stern talk with Deedee. How she couldn’t come with me. What her reward would be. When I come back, we’ll rewatch that satisfying opening to The Hit Man and then take a bubble bath.
I filled a glass with water. Set the pill next to it and went back to some random barbecuing show that I’d put on for Finn during my absence. The plan was to take the pill exactly one half hour before my appointment and then walk over.
Damn dog licked it off the counter! I could not believe it. To the usual line up of worries (failure of Novocain, a cracking, difficult-to-remove tooth, swallowing a chip), add the worry about coming home to a dead dog.
He’s a fast metabolizer, my brother had said after a second chocolate incident early on. No throwing up. No diarrhea. Just guilt.
He looked guilty, Finn, when I stood dumbfounded in front of the counter where my pill was supposed to be.
I had earlier given him half of one of my statins by mistake (don’t ask. Just don’t ask) and then correctly, half of one of his allergy pills. Five milligrams of diazepam in the mix?
But here’s the thing: with the office running so late I’m spared the worry about the pill’s effect wearing off before they finally call me to the inner sanctum.
Here’s a more important thing. Having already had one procedure with this doctor, I know he’s good. He has a crackerjack team. They’re ace communicators. They work FAST. The day’s snafu is asking me to trust them. And I do. It’s not even a stretch.
Two more things: sharing the story about the pill made the assistants laugh and got us talking about dogs, always a good thing.
And this (don’t judge me): I called up an angel and one appeared. She is Black. Called Deandra. Don’t you have little Black boys to protect? I mewled. She hushed me and stood by for the full hour.
UPDATE, next day
Omnipresent dark cloud gone! So much relief. I’m feeling the kind of relief that tells me anxiety was tagging along everywhere and all the time, whether I knew it or not.
Now get this — I will be goddamned if I didn’t come home and find the anti-anxiety pill sitting next to my glass of water. A little orange rebuke. Or better yet, a prankster in the annals of developing trust. How did it happen? Was it under the glass somehow? Befuddling for sure. Perhaps I need to add this to my Losing things and finding them post.
Never mind! Today will be ravioli-making day! I ordered cutters and have 00 flour. I have ricotta and even, truffle oil (just for a few. I don’t like it all that much). Can’t wait.
I got the very first spot in the garage. I mean — steps away from the gate. If I’d retraced the car’s route to street level, I’d have reached the auditorium in minutes, without a second of disorientation. Sky, buildings, curbs. Alas, I had to use the elevator and make my way through the Pru’s “lobby.”
I landmarked along the way, already worried about finding my way back. Was surprised to pass my old law firm, Ropes & Gray. I’d forgotten they switched towers once upon a time. Walked under a hideous art installation of crumpled netting and crystals, but was grateful for it because well-designed or not, it was memorable. Eataly (cute!) offering Mediterranean fare. Coffee shops (with lines!). Most establishments were closed. Lots of signs telling you to “look up” which I found weird.
I am routinely punctual, but today I impressed even myself. When I queued up to the entrance (the first and only wait of the process, by the way), I checked the time. Sixteen minutes. I was sixteen minutes early. Or, to put it another way: I was almost exactly on time.
Again, zero wait. “Go to B5.” There a young navy guy administered my shot. He told me he’s here for eight weeks, from Minnesota by way of Virginia. The magnolia are blooming in Virginia, I know, so I felt a little bad for him. “MAYBE you’ll get some nice weather while you’re here,” I joked. It was 29 degrees when I left the house.
During the mandatory post-shot wait period (another vast space), I almost immediately got a text to schedule shot number two. At the exit, I was handed a parking voucher. Did I mention what a well-run operation this was?
But then, the trek back. Going to protests in Boston, I’d learned to photograph my parking level, so I knew I was looking for the North Garage, Level 5. But I had to get there first.
A balmy wind blew here today, making the black walnuts rain down like artillery. You won’t hear any nuts landing in this clip, but the wind shows up.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen this dead snake out and about with Finn this afternoon, would I? Or the morning sun shining through the bromeliad.
Or been able to stitch and type and make soup.
Today — TA DA — I finished font conversions and created a single document holding the entire novel. Word count: 315,000 plus a little. That’s about 650 pages. Not ideal, but I’m starting on my query letter.
Dumplings in Chinatown.
Home Depot run followed by Savers. Look at that beautiful linen shawl and swath of Woolrich houndstooth!
Ansel Adams at the MFA — unbelievably crowded. Tolerable because I know I’ll be back.
Watching Bird Box (creepy good with some unexplained baloney that I now call ‘the Lost Effect’ — after the TV show).
Not sharing.
Fitbit early observations: the steps have got to be inflated (it doesn’t take 1200 to get dressed and make breakfast), sleep stages are all in the normal range but I could use a little more, and I really am not that keen on having this apparatus on my wrist (don’t tell K. And anyway I know I’ll find it useful).
All good holidays now include trips to the airport. 
We head back to terminal B later today.
I cannot believe that I used to put out dinners for four 350 nights a year.
We are all wishing for snow.
