I went to the dentist this week, after a four-year hiatus.
Yeah, you read that right. An intelligent woman, who ties her own shoelaces and knows how to cook an egg, has not seen a professional about her teeth since COVID was yet to exist.
Back then, I had wanted to get my chompers whitened. I couldn’t use store-bought stuff because my front two teeth had been bonded in the past – the bleaching would have done nothing for them. Plus, according to my dentist, we needed to do some work on small cavities and other concerns before getting into the aesthetics of the Osmond family smile I desired. When they start talking about your mouth in quadrants, you know you’re in for the long haul.
I remember boasting to the hygienist that my teeth had always been great and I’d had very few issues with them. “Well, it seems your luck has run out,” came the muffled voice from behind her mask, as she shone a light into my gaping maw.
Long story short, I got all the technical work done, but by the time that was finished, I needed a break from having my mouth constantly open (a shock, I know, to all who have been on the receiving end of one of my bottomless yarns). I never went back for the whitening; COVID hit; yada yada yada, four years suddenly disappeared and I dreaded returning to The Chair.
It had to be done. I’d chipped part of a crown from a root canal, revealing a bit of the metal beneath. It was a first step towards turning into Jaws from ‘Moonraker’. To add insult to injury, a hard mint took out a chunk of one of my bottom teeth. Next time, I’ll stick with bad breath.
Based on the rate of decline, I had my own global warming situation happening, and if I didn’t take steps to rein it in, I’d be more gummy than a Haribo bear in a few years’ time.
Now, it wasn’t the fear of the dentist that gave me pause. It used to be the case, as I’m allergic to pain, but thanks to modern technology and a wonderful thing called Novocaine, I’m no longer a gibbering idiot as soon as I walk in the door. No, my concern was being chastised for an hour about my long absence, second only to anticipating gasps of horror at the sight of my X-rays.
“How is she able to eat?”
“Can someone say ‘Stonehenge’?”
“I’ve never seen molars like them!”
I had all my snappy comebacks ready, just in case, with one scenario having me flinging the drool-catcher napkin from around my neck towards the wall as I marched out, yelling something about taking my business elsewhere.
Of course, none of the histrionics ended up being necessary. We started with the 360-degree X-ray, followed by the ones where you have to clamp down on hard plastic with your teeth. Those are my least favourite, as I have a surprisingly small mouth and impressive gag reflex. Nevertheless, I made it through relatively unscathed.
Next came the full exam from the dentist, but first, I was given eyewear that would not have been out of place in an Ibiza nightclub, in order to shield my orbs from the bright light. Somebody get this gal a turntable!
As he tapped and prodded away, reporting in dental code what he was finding to the two staff members in the room, it sounded like we were going to have to clear my schedule for the rest of the year. I couldn’t understand a word, but none of it sounded good. I was therefore pleasantly surprised to hear that I only had a couple of cavities, although obviously that chipped tooth would have to be addressed. That aside, I wanted to know why the bottoms of my teeth were wearing away, particularly on one side. And I still wanted to revisit the whole whitening thing.
Well, apparently I grind my teeth – much like a cow chewing the cud, but with vim and vigour – and things weren’t sitting as they should. This all added up to the need for some realignment and maybe wearing a mouthguard at night. Dynamite. I was one of those lucky teenagers who had braces when she was younger, complete with round-the-back-of-the-neck orthodontic headgear; I couldn’t wait to revisit those days.
At the end of the visit, I made subsequent appointments to start the process of sorting my smile. At least I hadn’t been scolded for my failure to keep up my twice-annual consultations, although there were certainly some raised eyebrows when nothing appeared on my file after 2019. Hopefully, I’ll stick with it this time, or maybe I’ll go the way of dentures. Hey – that would solve the teeth-grinding problem! Pass me those pliers…
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