she’s actually the reason I’m here now. We’re in a bit of a bind, and I’m hoping she can fill in as our guest speaker this afternoon. The speaker we had booked, a photographer who has just returned from a trip to the Middle East, has cancelled at the last minute, and Edie suggested that perhaps Dr. McAdams would like to speak on dentistry today.”
“Dentistry?” I repeat, wondering why Edie would suggest me, and the topic, when I know she’s not particularly fond of me.
“We were thinking perhaps you could prepare a short program on dentistry for seniors . . . something useful, educational, that they could relate to.”
The last thing I want to do is stand in front of a room and talk about dental hygiene for seniors, but Kathleen, the epitome of a pretty and cheerful camp counselor, is very persuasive and I can’t tell her no.
I agree to speak for twenty to twenty-five minutes and thentake questions for another fifteen to twenty minutes, or as long as there is sufficient interest.
• • •
I don’t have any handouts or a computer for a PowerPoint. I’ve no visuals or even dental models. Nothing to show. It’s just me, at the front of the room, with a microphone (necessary when half the room is hard of hearing) talking for the next thirty-something minutes.
I hope no one comes. And then I can scoot out at two, if no one is here by then.
My hopes are dashed moments later when the first ladies enter the room. There are three of them, and they take seats in the middle of the theater, reminding me how empty the room is.
They face me expectantly, their gazes following every little thing I do from scribbling fresh notes, to organizing my index cards.
If they are the only three, then I could invite them to come to the front row, or I could even stand in the row in front of them—
Two ladies arrive, both with walkers. They slowly find seats on the outside aisles.
And then a woman is pushed through the doors. She’s in a wheelchair and she has an attendant with her. The attendant parks the chair in the back row, the designated wheelchair section, and then grabs a folding chair from the back to sit down beside her. They, too, look at me, anticipating.
Seven. There is no getting out of the dental care for seniors speech now.
I skim my opening.
I’m Dr. Alison McAdams and I’m here to talk to you about your teeth.
Boring. Yawn.
I scratch out the opening and scribble a new one.
Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Dr. Alison McAdams and I’m curious. When was the last time you saw your dentist?
Another couple has come in. An older man and woman, arm in arm. I recognize them from my first day here. Dad was playing bridge with them.
The woman—Rose?—lifts a hand, waves to me. I wave back.
They’re the first to come sit in the front row. That’s nine.
I feel a wave of anxiety. I don’t understand why I’m nervous. What do I think is going to happen? This is a no-brainer. I’m talking about basic dental hygiene. Brushing, flossing, scheduling regular checkups.
I fold the notecard and write a new opening.
Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Dr. Alison McAdams. I’m a dentist in Scottsdale, Arizona, and the daughter of Bill McAdams—
I lift my pen, reread the words, unsure of myself all over again.
Voices echo from the doorway. A group of women have just arrived, talking loudly. And behind the group comes three more: two ladies and a young man.
The ladies hold each other up, tiny and tall, dark and fair, one so frail and delicate, the other thin and slightly hunchbacked.
Ruth and Edie, accompanied by Craig.
I exhale with a sharp rush.
I wish he weren’t here.
He’s handsome. He is. The kind of face and frame that reality TV loves. I’m not surprised the Food Network made a show centered around the Hallahan brothers, but I’m already nervous about speaking this afternoon and I’m even more unsettled now with Craig Hallahan in the audience.
I try to focus on my notecards but the words
“Dentistry?” I repeat, wondering why Edie would suggest me, and the topic, when I know she’s not particularly fond of me.
“We were thinking perhaps you could prepare a short program on dentistry for seniors . . . something useful, educational, that they could relate to.”
The last thing I want to do is stand in front of a room and talk about dental hygiene for seniors, but Kathleen, the epitome of a pretty and cheerful camp counselor, is very persuasive and I can’t tell her no.
I agree to speak for twenty to twenty-five minutes and thentake questions for another fifteen to twenty minutes, or as long as there is sufficient interest.
• • •
I don’t have any handouts or a computer for a PowerPoint. I’ve no visuals or even dental models. Nothing to show. It’s just me, at the front of the room, with a microphone (necessary when half the room is hard of hearing) talking for the next thirty-something minutes.
I hope no one comes. And then I can scoot out at two, if no one is here by then.
My hopes are dashed moments later when the first ladies enter the room. There are three of them, and they take seats in the middle of the theater, reminding me how empty the room is.
They face me expectantly, their gazes following every little thing I do from scribbling fresh notes, to organizing my index cards.
If they are the only three, then I could invite them to come to the front row, or I could even stand in the row in front of them—
Two ladies arrive, both with walkers. They slowly find seats on the outside aisles.
And then a woman is pushed through the doors. She’s in a wheelchair and she has an attendant with her. The attendant parks the chair in the back row, the designated wheelchair section, and then grabs a folding chair from the back to sit down beside her. They, too, look at me, anticipating.
Seven. There is no getting out of the dental care for seniors speech now.
I skim my opening.
I’m Dr. Alison McAdams and I’m here to talk to you about your teeth.
Boring. Yawn.
I scratch out the opening and scribble a new one.
Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Dr. Alison McAdams and I’m curious. When was the last time you saw your dentist?
Another couple has come in. An older man and woman, arm in arm. I recognize them from my first day here. Dad was playing bridge with them.
The woman—Rose?—lifts a hand, waves to me. I wave back.
They’re the first to come sit in the front row. That’s nine.
I feel a wave of anxiety. I don’t understand why I’m nervous. What do I think is going to happen? This is a no-brainer. I’m talking about basic dental hygiene. Brushing, flossing, scheduling regular checkups.
I fold the notecard and write a new opening.
Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Dr. Alison McAdams. I’m a dentist in Scottsdale, Arizona, and the daughter of Bill McAdams—
I lift my pen, reread the words, unsure of myself all over again.
Voices echo from the doorway. A group of women have just arrived, talking loudly. And behind the group comes three more: two ladies and a young man.
The ladies hold each other up, tiny and tall, dark and fair, one so frail and delicate, the other thin and slightly hunchbacked.
Ruth and Edie, accompanied by Craig.
I exhale with a sharp rush.
I wish he weren’t here.
He’s handsome. He is. The kind of face and frame that reality TV loves. I’m not surprised the Food Network made a show centered around the Hallahan brothers, but I’m already nervous about speaking this afternoon and I’m even more unsettled now with Craig Hallahan in the audience.
I try to focus on my notecards but the words
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