About three years ago I looked in a bathroom mirror and shrieked like a deranged lemur. For some reason, and apparently almost overnight, my lower middle incisors had crowded together like those crossed cement barriers on WWII’s Juno Beach. That moment was a decisive turning point in my dithering campaign to solve my peg-tooth issue. This ‘dental action’ rivals some military ops and will involve modern prosthetics at some point, so brace yourself.
A tray was once, only something I would get at a cafeteria to load plates onto as I selected my food in high school. A trey in cards doesn’t count because of spelling. I had considered no other use for the word until I discovered trays are the new braces used to realign teeth. When he was barely a teenager, my eldest son had such a painful experience with those old-timey metal devices he actually tried to cut them off with kitchen scissors. The poor lad also had something called a Neo-blastoma that is still being talked about at dental conferences throughout North America. His history was my history so I was a bit squeamish about ‘braces’. But hooray for technology! I was glad when I saw these clear plastic form-fitting trays so I relaxed a bit. But first I had to get an extraction (cue ominous music).
I had never visited a dentist until I was 18. I learned two things back then: I had a strangeIy angled molar which the dentist at the time wanted to pull-out. I said no thanks, but was grateful he had pointed out I had strong enamel. So time passed and I found myself a career as a teacher, which came with a dandy dental plan. With my champion enamel (I kept being told), I have had only three cavities, so I never viewed going to the dental offices with trepidation.
But now I had to sacrifice one of my pearly-whites so the rest of my teeth could stand at attention properly. I had a 360 degree head scan that captured an amazing view of my jaw, making me look like my head had been found in an archeological dig, and carbon dated to sometime in the BC years. These neanderthal features showed the tooth-that-must-be-pulled, along with my tipping over band of soldiers. I chose to be anesthetized to minimize the trauma. It was done in a second! My bride drove me home while I floated beside her on roads made of marshmallows.
Why was I making such a fuss, I had to ask myself when I came back to full consciousness. Weeks later I had a better attitude when I was fitted for my trays which would continue the realignment of my smile. I was pumped for the novelty of being in my seventies and wearing invisible braces. Wearing them 22 hours a day made for a readjusted eating schedule. Each time I graduate to a new set of trays I suffer growing-pains but it’s bearable. I like the thought that I have some control over my body as it returns to dust. After all, we’re just part of a celestial wind.
Catch My Drift? 