Catch a (thought) wave
Riding the waves of life
I went to get my teeth cleaned this week at what I still consider my new dentist, even though I’ve been going there for about five years.
Prior to that, I’d gone to the same practice where I’d endured various forms of oral torture since I was 12. Root canals. Crowns. So many fillings. At one point, my entire extended family went there along with my four kids and the ladies behind the desk knew everything about everyone.
Over time, the original dentist brought on a younger one who eventually took over the practice, but nothing much changed and that was comforting. But after about 20 years, things were still pretty much the same. Like, the toys in the waiting room still looked like the Fisher Price relics from long ago and the hygiene team gave out laughing gas like stickers.
About 10 years ago, my mother made the big switch after questionable dental work and then everyone else in the family began to migrate to more modern practices for dental care. I finally left, taking my four kids with me, and felt like I had packed my bags in the middle of the night and snuck off. We landed at a practice recommended by a friend and I was shocked at how thorough they were when we had our first visits. They examined and excavated our mouths like an archaeological team sifting through layers of rock, searching for artifacts hidden deep below the surface.
At my first cleaning, the hygienist politely told me to open my mouth and I sat up and asked if they were going to give me gas and she looked at me like I was crazy. “Do you experience a lot of pain with cleanings?” she asked, and I realized that drugging someone to clean their teeth might not be the norm. She said I could get the gas, but it would cost extra. In the end, I decided that I would endure the sharp poking, prodding and scraping to save a few bucks. But I really did miss getting absolutely wasted in the middle of the day. Like, just casually hallucinating for 30 minutes before getting a blast of oxygen and sent on your merry way to operate a motor vehicle.
***
I don’t know what it’s like when you get your teeth cleaned, but at this operation, there’s a lot more happening than flossing and shining your chompers. There’s an intense examination of my entire mouth — including my tongue at all angles and then a generous rub down of my entire gumline. The outer part of my jaw is palpated and my throat and back of head get a nice massage of sorts, which I don’t hate.
I’ve had the same woman cleaning my teeth for a couple of years and for the life of me, I cannot remember her name. And now, it’s gotten past the point where I can ask her, or even the nice ladies at the front desk, to remind me what it is. I feel terrible because she remembers everything about me. Where my kids went to college. The town I recently moved to. That I have a Goldendoodle. And I can’t even recall her name.
At this week’s appointment, this nameless hygienist looked at her computer monitor and asked follow-up questions based on what she’d noted from my last visit in June. “How’s your GERD?” she asked, and I was like, “What are you talking about?”
“It says here you were dealing with a lot of reflux and burning,” she said, and I asked the date of my last visit. “Oh right,” I said, “I was fucking crazy this summer.”
“So, you’re fine now? The GERD has gone?” she asked, probably remembering all the things she suggested last summer to help me with the horrible discomfort I dealt with every day for a few months when I was in the process of selling my house and moving.
“Weird, right?” I said, thinking about how it all just disappeared once my life began to settle down in the fall.
“So, should we still look into getting you fitted for a night guard?” she asked. At the same visit, we discussed how it might help keep me from grinding my teeth at night. My jaw had started feeling dangerously tight from all the anxiety and I worried about opening my mouth too wide to eat my nightly melatonin gummies and popping my jaw apart.
***
The other day, I woke up to a TikTok video my daughter had sent while I was asleep, and this one had nothing to do with dogs or sassy podcasters.
It features a young guy talking about how thoughts are like waves in the ocean — we can’t stop them from coming and have to decide which ones we’re going to surf. “What you focus on is what you’ll feel,” he says, “and what you feel is what you’ll do, and what you do is what you become.”
How do young people know so many things nowadays? When I was in my mid-20s, I had the self-awareness of a stink bug. I was pretty much just crawling around trying to survive without getting squashed.
But now that I’ve evolved into a more refined being — say, a spider? (definitely not a spider cricket) — I can better identify what is going on in my life, why I’m feeling a certain way. Maybe not exactly when it’s happening, but in retrospect, I can see why I’m like leaving keys in doors or suffering from a burning esophagus. And I’m also doing a better job separating the good stories from the bad in my head.
Even though the absolute trauma of packing up a life and relocating it is behind me, I know that it’s only a matter of time before another challenge rears its head. I mean, that is life, isn’t it? But I’m really trying to focus on is the good parts. All the good things that have happened to me since I left my old life behind.
So when the dental hygienist asked if I still wanted that night guard, I was like, “Hell yes.”
I may be hanging on my mental surfboard, just bobbing on the water and watching the waves roll by. But I know that sometimes a really big juicy one is hard to resist. I see it coming and then panic, not sure if I’m far enough out to let it pass me by. If I’ve drifted too close to shore and am in danger of getting caught as the top of the swell stretches high above my board and begins to curl, the arc scooping me into its violent embrace.
This time, before I get pummeled onto the sand — the back of my bathing suit wedged up my butt and the taste of salty ocean in my mouth — I’m going to be ready.
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SUNDAY SHARES: Read, watch, cook, buy
Read it: After two months of stops and starts, this week I finally finished Celeste Ng's "Our Missing Hearts." Here's my review: Even after dragging the hardcover with me to Aruba in November and looking at it sit on my nightstand hence, I just had to look up what it was called. I really liked the concept and have thought about the book a lot when I see and hear anti-Asian sentiments that have become so pervasive, but the story didn't come together enough for me. It was nothing like "Little Fires Everywhere," which I talked about incessantly with anyone else who had read it.
Listen to it: This was also my week to wrap up the audiobook, Black Cake, that I'd been listening to. Excellent narration. Tells the story of a mother who has died and left her two adult children a recording that shares secrets from her past. As rich and layered as the traditional Caribbean black cake that the book is named for.
Watch it: I quickly watched all 10, 30-minute episodes of Amy Schumer's "Life and Beth" on HULU. Reviews call it enjoyable but uneven, and I'd have to agree. As a writer of memoir, I liked seeing how the creator mined events from her own life to tell the story of a woman who can't let go of her past. A theme I love.
Cook it: Here's a PSA for anyone else who is slogging through the winter trying not to be fat and eating SO MANY SALADS. Throw some roasted chickpeas on top to add a new texture to your daily lunch. I mean, doesn't everyone have at least one can of garbanzo beans spinning around on their lazy susan? Here's a good way to get rid of it.
Buy it: My dog turned six this week and my sister was absolutely horrified I did nothing to commemorate the day. "Not even a new toy?" she asked. To compensate, she had this adorable doggie birthday cake sent to my house and he couldn't believe his good fortune.
xoAmy
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