Behind the White Coat

Rusted out boiler room.

I painted my daughter’s toenails last night. Happily, she gave me a huge hug after admiring the pink sparkle then whispered in my ear, “You are the BEST mommy, ever!” I basked in my most honored parent status because it never lasts long…

The first time I had my toenails done was when my husband gifted me a spa day as a graduation gift from residency. After so many years of slaving away under florescent lights and hospital grime with stress piled upon stress, it sounded like the perfect gift to everyone except me.

I was thirty years old.

Some girls grow up getting their nails done. With moms. With friends. By themselves.

But I had never done it before.

The anxiety was overwhelming.

For weeks I stressed about the condition of my feet: the rather large bunions I had inherited from my father, the years of callous buildup from…

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