It’s been a pretty shit day. It Followed a pretty difficult week, which was part of a pretty terrible month. I haven’t enjoyed the last 30 days due to many and varied First World problems.
I won’t bore you with the details- I’m too proud a person to whine or admit defeat. This too shall pass blah blah blah etc etc.
Towards the end of this particular shit day, I had a dentist appointment I’ve been putting off for the best part of a year and a half. Not because I hate or fear the dentist. I know most people have issues with the unsightly tools, drilling sounds and dreaded procedures like root canals and extractions. But me, I feel perfectly comfortable in the dental engine (did you know that’s the actual name for the chair?!) due to terrible genes and unfortunate accidents.
My first experience of teeth extraction was my mum tying a piece of string to one of my wobbly milk teeth, with the other end of the string tied to a door handle. The door was closed, and the tooth flew out. I was 5 years old. This was followed by a Soviet dentist extracting 6 rotting milk teeth. There was no talk of anaesthesia or pain relief. I got a stern look when I suggested that maybe we can spread the extractions over a few days. This was my first life lesson to suck it up and not be (excuse the expression) a pussy.
Since then, I have had, one could say, too many fillings (I loved candy and honestly don’t recall owning a toothbrush as a child, let alone brush my teeth twice daily). I was made to wear the dreaded orthodontist headgear, followed by years of braces and retainers. Had wisdom teeth taken out with only local anaesthetic during a work lunch break. I have seen many specialist dentists following an epic bike accident that left my two front teeth very much outside my mouth. One of my (many) dentists claimed me to be a ‘medical marvel’ when she found an infection the size of pea where these teeth once were. By her estimation, the area was infected for at least 10 years, and she couldn’t understand how I wasn’t doubled over in pain or developed sepsis during that time. It took many loud and expensive procedures to get the bastard out and fit an implant in its place. The whole thing took about a year, and I’m still traumatised by the prospect of almost needing a denture.
So scared of the dentist I am not. I go frequently- to clean my teeth, to check up and keep a close eye on any dental hazards. But during The Great Quarantine, the whole thing felt so elaborate with PPE and required extraness, I put it off until I could no longer ignore the constant email reminders.
I decided to try a new dentist who my folks have been raving about as someone who is very thorough and whose hygienist gets teeth glistening without pain or leaving gums looking like a fresh murder scene. Their sales pitch included some sort of gel that did something cool and no doubt cleaning related. Sold.
To start things off I get my teeth cleaned by the Fairy Hygienist. The parentals were right, the girl can get shit done without pain. But when I enquired about the magic cleaning gel, I was told it’s just a numbing gel, and since it tastes like a corpse’s rotting spleen, she rarely recommends it, unless you can’t handle a bit of sensitivity. I can and have.
With my teeth squeaky clean I am taken in for my checkup. I park myself in the extremely comfortable dentist chair and after a short exchange about the weather and Covid, the dentist puts on her glasses, face mask and shield and starts firing questions at me.
“How many hot drinks with sugar do you drink a day?” Two.
“How many cold sugary drinks a day?” None. She looks at me like I’m lying. No, seriously, none, I’m more of an H2O person.
“How much alcohol a week?” I opt for the tried and tested GP friendly answer- 2 units a week, mate.
“Do you smoke?” No. I mean sometimes, socially… fine, I’ve smoked all through Covid. I ain’t proud of it, but I needed some poison to carry me through. She looks at me disapprovingly and moves on because she can see there is little point in a lecture.
“Smile please”, I give her my best ready for the dentist smile. She grimaces and asks me to smile ‘normally’. Thinking about it now, I realise I smile like Wallace in my effort to show her all my teeth at once. I shake off Wallace face and smile at her like a human being. She comes up pretty close to my face and through her face mask and shield says “you have a thin upper lip” …pause… “bit funny that with your gum line”. Erm OK, I don’t know that I can offer a justification here. I only got what my mama gave me.
”You grind your back teeth”. Pardon? No, I don’t. “Yeah, you grind your back teeth. It’s probably temporary. Have you been under any stress lately?” Haven’t we all, babes?
During my one-hour appointment, I learn that I am a teeth grinder, cheek biter, who overbrushes. I have an overbite, thin gums and a thin upper lip. I’m told no action is required and to come back for a routine check-up in 6 months.
I’m not entirely sure that my lip or gums or habits are likely to change during that time, but at least I learn that £300 in Harley Street buys you cleaner teeth and a smile complex.
It’s a good thing face masks are in this season.
CREATIVE NOTES 