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 andcleaning 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.”
