ADHA Conference, Day 1

6 am: I’m awake. My body still thinks it’s in Philadelphia—actually, I don’t think my body knows where the hell it is.

9 am: Crystal and I arrive—a little late—to the convention center. The expo is already overflowing with people as we make our way to the booth and hastily set up the APP material: brochures, including four new Spanish-language ones; posters; procedure manuals, both hard copy and disc; pens and stickers; and about ten different issues of The Point. (The back issues of The Point are always eye-catching, and make me very proud.) As we set up, we were swamped with people, asking questions, wanting information, thanking us for being there. I remembered: this is why I love these conferences.

10 am: The most interesting point in the day was in the early morning, around 10 am. As a representative from the ADHA introduced herself—thanking us for once again being there—there was a small gaggle of people slowly walking towards us, deferentially surrounding an old woman as she made her way down the aisle. As she came nearer, I was told—with a tone of reverence—that the woman making her way to us was the “Queen of the ADHA.” Before she could say more, the woman reached us and was ushered behind our table and into our booth space. Evidently the juxtaposition of a septuagenarian dental hygienist posing with the two tattooed and pierced exhibiters was a photo opportunity not to be missed.

She posed—flanked by Crystal and I—while our picture was taken. After the first set of photos, she looked behind her at the booth behind her to see where she was—not out of mental frailty, but as someone important enough that they were used to being shuttled from one photo opportunity to the next without having to concern herself with more than being diplomatic. We were motioned together for a second set of photos, and as my hand brushed against hers she grabbed it and held it tightly with the kind of clasp that can only come from someone older, someone who has no time for worrying about misunderstanding, who holds your hand as though there could be no other reason for that grip than pure warmth and understanding. I immediately knew why everyone held her in such regard, why she commanded such respect. After the pictures were taken, she turned to me and said, simply but earnestly, “I don’t like tongue piercings.” She said it in such a way that I didn’t hold it against her, as I knew she didn’t hold it against me.

She then slowly walked away, followed by her entourage, her court. This was my experience meeting Dr. Esther Wilkins.

1 pm: They had mariachis walking around after lunch.