On How I Almost Became Toothless

I feel toothless, I feel useless, I feel insane

Courtney Barnett

My dentist never liked my jaw. I never liked her. I preferred the other one, he would joke around and make me feel at ease. He owned a giant collection of key chains and was friends with my dad. I am still fond of him.

But the lady, she was a disaster. Shrill and stern and made patients wait for hours. Everyone was scared of her. And she hated my jaw. It had moved way too forward, she insisted. Made me wear a headband to move it back. It hurt awfully. My sister was happy, I would not be able to chatter at night and keep her up, she reasoned. But it hurt awfully so I took it off. And then my jaw looked quite alright, I reasoned. It still does.

Her cabinet smelled weird but I liked it. The only thing I remotely liked about the place. It was the smell of that pink bubblegum thing they put into your mouth to get an imprint of your teeth. Then, according to that imprint they’d make your braces, those old-fashioned ones you could put in and out your mouth. She made me wear both of them, the whole set. I hated it, it made me spit and stutter. Not a pretty sight, not a pretty feeling. But my teeth looked much worse then my jaw so I had to comply. Year in year out I wore those mechanisms in my mouth, those ancient braces you had to adjust manually every third day or so. Turn a screw with a bowed pin. And God forbid if you mixed it up. It would hurt like hell and then you would have to go see her again.

One time she decided that my teeth did not fit into my mouth. Too many teeth, apparently. She’d been trying to “adjust the center” for years. I still don’t know what it meant but she never succeeded. Instead, she decided to pull out teeth that were one too many. “How will she chew?” My dad asked quite politely. She was friends with him as well, so they respected each other. A mere mortal of a patient would never dare to doubt her.

I would be fine, she said, she wasn’t pulling them all out, was she? Just a couple of teeth less would do me no harm. My dad hesitated. And I finally protested. Enough was enough, I needed my teeth.

I never saw the lady again and I don’t really miss her. I wonder sometimes though, if she still has those endless queues of patients. And if she is still shrill and nasty and scary. Does her cabinet still smell of that pink thing? I wonder. But then I look into the mirror and I don’t care anymore. I could have been toothless because of her. And most probably jawless as well.

Her braces went to the trash bin. So did the bowed pin used for adjusting them. My teeth? They are perfectly fine. I got new braces, modern ones that stick to your enamel and don’t go anywhere. No more spitting and stuttering, thank you very much. And my jaw looks perfectly fine to me. It still does.