Day One

I now understand (a fraction of) the indignities that we ask our children to suffer quietly when we decide their teeth will benefit from a course of orthodontic treatment.

After many, many years of wishing for a perfect smile, or at least perfect teeth, I have at last, at the ripe old age of fifty-something, embarked on my own orthodontic journey. A friend suggested I share that journey, so I decided to give it a go. Maybe it will help someone else make their decision. Or maybe I can offer some entertainment at my expense. That would be worth it.

I got off to a rough start. First, I needed four extractions, crowding being the underlying reason for my disorganized bite. My sister did the honors (yes, she is a qualified DDS!). Extractions are routine but one of these was very stubborn and its roots backed up to a nerve, so after much yanking and destruction, the tooth was out, but the socket pained me for the following two weeks. We hedged against infection and watched for signs of dry socket (a painful condition in which bone is exposed) but it turned out neither of these was the case. It was just, simply, very traumatic. The right side of my chin is still numb from temporary nerve involvement. The experts say the feeling should return, but I've heard stories...

The pain eased in time for me to visit the orthodontist just this morning. And so it begins. Before the braces go on, your teeth are polished. This is not the kind of happy, gum-tickling polishing you get at your dentist's office. This polishing involves a rather unpleasant metallic vibration on each tooth--something like drilling without the hole, which, happily, was over quickly. (The teeth right next to my new empty sockets did not appreciate the vibrating at all.)

Then came the first indignity in the form of a lip spreader; a somewhat Medieval-looking contraption that holds the patient's lips out of the way so the professionals can do their work. Along with that, a constant suction was inserted to keep the area dry. With the patient (me) prepared and the assistant and I waiting patiently for the doctor, I decided this was a good time to be sure I was getting the right braces--that is, since the "invisible" ones wouldn't do the job, could I get as close to invisible as possible? (I still harbored the naive hope that I could straighten my teeth as unobtrusively as possible, that is, without anyone noticing.)

"Wiw ay e ear?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, I can't understand you," she replied.

No surprise there. So I decided to wave my hand around while repeating the same thing--because that would help her understand, right?

"Wiw ay e ear?" I asked again, moving my hand.
"Will they be clear? Yes. The ones on top. We don't use clear ones on the bottom though."

Note: hand waving helps.

While I lay with my feet in the air and my head pointed toward the floor and let them do what I--here comes the funny part--had asked them to do, I, not for the first time, wondered if I should have left well enough alone. (The first time was as my sister was working to extract the second of my perfectly healthy premolars--a little late, but definitely an unnerving time to think that maybe I should not have gotten myself into this!)

Once the braces were on, the wires snapped in and my lips closed over the whole mess, it was a relief to be finished, but of course, this journey is just beginning.

The orthodontist's assistant gave me a goody bag full of all kinds of tools to help me keep my teeth clean, which may prove tricky now that they're covered with metal. Flossing looks like it should take only an hour or so--brushing, no problem.

Having gone to the grocery store directly after getting the braces on, I've had my first public appearance and practice talking around the new additions. That part was awkward, but relatively simple, too. I have to remember, no one knows me--as far as they're concerned, I've always looked like the sister of James Bond's metallic-toothed villain, Jaws.

What about eating? My first food would be pudding. No chewing. Easy. Not. Every time I closed my mouth, the inside of my lower lip got stuck in my teeth somehow. And I wasn't even chewing! I also had the feeling that about half the food went down my throat and the other half remained stuck in the metalworks. I can only imagine what an unpleasant sight that would be for anyone I might be eating with. (Update: In a conversation with my niece this evening, who is in her second year of braces, she assures me that, yes, much of what I eat will end up stuck in my grill. Awesome.)

Well, that's day one. Braces are now a part of my life for the next 24 months. Unobtrusive? Not at all. But I do look forward to the final result.