Wordless Wednesday - Notice anything different?

In Which She First Develops a Bad Taste in Her Mouth for the Tooth Doctor

Brought to you by the question the dental hygienist posed yesterday during my torture cleaning:

"So, did something traumatic happen to you that caused you to feel this way about dentists?"

I told her this story, though you may understand it better since I do not have fingers and various devices protruding from my mouth:


Growing up as a missionary kid, I never had the opportunity to get to know my relatives very well because I only saw them every four years when we would come back to the States for a year's furlough. Because we furloughed in California where my maternal relatives lived, I spent more time with them. During weekly visits to my grandmother's and holidays spent sitting at the kids' table with my cousins, I established at least a surface relationship with most of my mom's family.

The rare visits with my dad's family in Georgia were the special ones, though. There was something so comfortable and friendly about my grandparents' house in the small, southern town, a striking contrast to the noise, smog, and busyness of Los Angeles. Rincon was a town where everyone knew your name. I would go down to the post office with my grandfather, and the postmaster would greet him, "Good morning, Mr. Mac! Oh, and this must be your granddaughter." Obviously, he had been sharing his excitement about our visit.

I loved their house too. Outside was the ever-present smell of pine trees with a passing whiff of the paper mill in nearby Savannah. Not that paper mills give off a pleasant smell, but the odor always reminded me of Rincon, and that was a pleasant feeling. Inside there was the delicious aroma of fresh cornbread mixed with whatever meat dish would grace the table for dinner.

As weird as it sounds, one of my favorite things at my grandparents' house was in their bathroom. It was on their bathroom counter where I would always find the two plastic figurines. Or at least I thought they were figurines. They delighted me because they were a plump grandma with rosy cheeks and wire-frame spectacles, and an equally plump and jolly grandpa. And they stood there, cheerily, on the counter. I was even more delighted when I discovered the truth about these figurines. They were actually containers that held Grandma and Grandpa's teeth at night. And you can believe I crept into their bathroom many a night to sneak a peek at their teeth lying in the recesses of their respective Grandma and Grandpa Figurines.

I had many a discussion with my parents about these fun containers that held Grandma and Grandpa's teeth. I told my parents I wanted to one day have false teeth and a similar container in which to store them. At three-years-old, I had no idea of the prophetic nature of my grand desires. In fact, even as I spoke of my lofty teeth ambitions, my teeth were rotting in my mouth.

As a baby and young toddler, my parents had allowed me to fall asleep with my bottle, and the bottle contained a formula which contained sugar. Apparently, sucking on a bottle of sugar all night is bad for your teeth. So by the time I was four years old, all of my front teeth were rotten.

It was time for the dentist. And I honestly have mostly fond memories of this dentist's office. It took up the 3rd floor of an office building overlooking one of Los Angeles's freeways. I enjoyed sitting in the chair watching the cars go by. Seeing cars as numerous as one finds in L.A. was always culture shock for me. They always gave me a new weiner dog toothbrush. This was a toothbrush in a clear tube, and on either end was one end of the dog. A real dental treasure for a 4-year-old. Finally, they had a treasure chest to beat the band. It was in the shape of an actual treasure chest and was full of such a variety of treasures from which to choose, it was overwhelming.

Despite my adoration for this dentist, I inevitably had to undergo The Extraction. All of my front teeth came out. And I can only assume my x-rays showed no signs of any permanent teeth making their appearance any time soon, so rather than put me on a liquid diet for two years, I got temporary false teeth.

You would think, given my grand aspirations of one day sporting a good set of false teeth, I would have been elated. However, after the False Teeth Installation, I was presented with the harsh reality that I had just been given a set of false teeth that were attached to my mouth. No removing my teeth at bedtime. No putting them in a cute little jar beside the sink. These were no fun at all. With this realization, I was happy to find out that I would only have these false teeth until my permanent teeth emerged.

And with this experience, I learned several things. One, the Tooth Fairy knows that a whole mouthful of extracted teeth is worth way more than a quarter; I can still picture the lovely beaded flower necklace that came with the quarter. Secondly, not all false teeth are as cool as Grandma and Grandpa's. And third, the dentist is not a fun place to be.

For more "Things I Learned", visit Musings of a Housewife.

In Which the Offspring Are Braver Than the Parental Unit

I never made that appointment my husband said I needed to make since we've already met our dental deductible for the year. So my husband made it for me. He's helpful like that.

With T minus 2 hours until I would be putting my life and teeth in the hands of Dr. Curington, DMD, I whined stated the fact that I had to leave soon to be tortured by metal picks and scraping tools for my cleaning.

My daughter matter-of-factly responded, "Well, at least you don't have to have a big metal thing put in your mouth."

She's right, of course. This afternoon was Alex and Michael's appointment to have their jaw extenders inserted.

Now I don't know this for a fact because Mark took them to their appointment, but I'm pretty sure they did not have to have 18 x-rays done using a huge, ginormous THING that made me gag each time it was inserted in my mouth. And I'm sure they did not endure the terrible sound of plaque being meticulously scraped off of each and every tooth. Nope. All they had were metal contraptions put in their mouths

I was not shy about sharing with all of the dental staff my feelings as a dental patient (not to be confused with mental patient). They were still nice to me. In fact, my dentist told me that my teeth are so yummy and delicious despite the fact that I haven't had a cleaning in 4 years that it would be OK if I only had them cleaned once per year instead of the standard every-six-months. I think I almost like her.

The hygienist asked me if I still wanted the scheduled 6-month reminder sent to me in light of what my new dentist friend had told me. "Yes," I said, "because it will take me the other 6 months to work up the courage to come in again."

Meanwhile, my children were indeed having metal torture contraptions installed in their little mouths. And they really are so brave indeed. These things do not sit against the roof of their mouths, but rather create sort of a bridge halfway between their tongue and the roof of their mouths.

If I had one of those things in my mouth, I would be whining so much the thing would jump out of my mouth out of pure fatigue from my mouth flapping. But they haven't complained much. Alex only says she can't swallow, but then, I haven't seen much drool, so she must be swallowing when she's not thinking about it. She didn't eat much for dinner. I'm a little upset about their eating restrictions. For example, the list says they cannot have apples or carrots...really the only two fruits/veggies Michael will even eat. And everything they have eaten gets stuck between the contraption and the roof of their mouths.

It will be an interesting next several months with me trying to convince myself I need to be tortured another cleaning in a year, and my dear children trying to eat and talk normally with this Thing in their mouths. Then, of course, it's on to braces. My sweet little babies. They sure are brave!

Sorry...I could not get the apparatus without capturing up his nose as well.

Dear New Orthodontist,

Although I may now have to cut the college careers of my two eldest children by 1 or 2 years, I am grateful to you for beginning this Braces Journey. You put the band spacers in to prepare their little mouths for the expanders which will go in next week. And now I hear the incessant whining about how weird it feels, which is what any parent of children on this Journey should hear. Of course, today Michael asked me if one of the spacers fell out because he couldn't feel it. Mission accomplished--he's used to them now.

Speaking of falling out spacers, though. I noticed in the paperwork you sent home that there is an entire page devoted to the instructions on what I should do in the event that a spacer does fall out. I want you to know that should that occur, I do not intend to follow any of the directions except the last one which says, "If you have any problems, please contact our office." To me, if one of the spacers falls out, that is a problem. I will not attempt to re-insert the spacer myself. You are the tooth professional, not I.

Until next week,
Kathleen

P.S. - Since you have asked me to accomplish a task for which I am not trained, I wish to inform you that a brand new Schoolbox store just moved into my area. Now we are even: you tried to lure me into your world of teeth; I, well, I'm just explaining why I'm doing the happy dance over here.

The Grafting Story

Monday morning. Dentist appointments. For all four children. Actually, it sounds worse than it really was. We used to dread dentist appointments for the children because it meant pinning at least one of them down with all our might while an assistant pried a little mouth open and attempted--amidst the blood-curdling screams--to insert a sharp dental tool. Now the children are all so well-mannered in the dentist's chair, those dreadful moments are but a long-distant dream.

The children are, in fact, more well-mannered at the dentist than I am. I would rather be on my back at the GYN's with my feet up in...well, suffice to say I don't like the dentist. At all. Not the dentist personally; she's actually a very nice lady who tells us our teeth are "delicious". It's the whole going to the dentist thing, enduring the scraping sound, answering the accusing questions like So do you floss everyday?, etc., etc. And I say that our dentist tells us our teeth are delicious, which actually is not the whole truth. She has yet to tell me that because I have not been in, well, a really long time, so I have yet to experience this new dentist's torture care. My husband says we've already met our deductible this year so it would be prudent for me to get my cleaning in before the year's end. I'm fighting him tooth (and nail).

Anyway, Monday it was. At the dentist. With all four children. Jacob's teeth are "delicious", and the only thing he may need in the future are braces to make all of his teeth squish together. Alex requires a mouth expander to correct her jaw, after which she will require braces. We already knew this and have her scheduled at the orthodontist next month. Audrey is too young to really tell much except for the fact that her mouth is a mini-Alex-mouth (the dentist's words, not mine), so if we have any of the children's college fund left by the time her turn rolls around, I guess we already know what treatment she will require.

As for Michael. Oh, his poor little mouth. He requires the same jaw extender followed by braces as Alex and already has his ortho appointment scheduled as well. What really concerns me about him are his receding bottom gums. The dentist attributes it to him being a mouth breather, which I thought meant he breathes through his mouth (duh!); however, she explained that because his bottom and top teeth do not come together, "mouth breather" refers to the fact that a lot of air enters through his teeth into his mouth. No idea what this has to do with receding gums, but anyway. The whole ortho thing as well as better brushing, she said, should keep his gums from getting worse.

However. There is no way to correct the problem that has already progressed. I was told that later he may require a graft. I know all about grafting because when I was little, I was involved in an accident which resulted in my best friend receiving skin grafts on her leg burn. But in the mouth? On the gums? Unfortunately, I asked a couple of questions like, Where does the gum skin for grafting come from? There are two choices: from the roof of his mouth or from a cadaver.

I think I threw up in my mouth a little when she said that. Not that I am not grateful to anyone who donates their organs. Or gums. And not that cadavers gross me out. I mean, I've always wanted to take Gross Anatomy just so I could work on a cadaver. However, you know and I know that I would not stick a piece of my cadaver's gums in my pocket to use later in my son's mouth when I got home from the lab.

She told me all of this in a whispered tone as if my son knows all about grafting and cadavers. He of course was oblivious to it, much as he apparently is oblivious to effective teeth brushing. I have moved all of the kids' toothbrushes down to my bathroom so I can take the chore over again. Except for Alex's; the dentist said she is brushing well.

Like I said, they all did great reclined in their chairs, under the bright lights, decked out in sunglasses, watching the Disney channel of choice. Alex even sat calmly through that especially torturous dental exercise of cramming a gigantic plastic tray of goo in your mouth which you must then hold in there for a blasted Eternity, all the while fighting it with your tongue while fighting to breathe at the same time. When I checked in on her and saw the thing protruding from her mouth, I gagged and had to excuse myself from the room immediately.

Audrey is the only one who fussed at all. During her cleaning, she cried because she did not like the taste of the dentist's choice of toothpaste. While this may seem a trivial and silly matter to the regular person, anyone of royalty knows that when something foreign and unpleasant touches a princess' palate, a few tears must be shed. Her tears dried quickly, however, when the hygienist lead her to the huge Treasure Chest.

The Treasure Chest is always something to look forward to at our dentist's office. As is the chocolate treat. Yes, our dentist has bowls of chocolates lying around her office. I teased her about this once, and she explained that chocolate is not bad for your teeth, just the chewy and hard candies.


Chocolate. That magic word. In spite of myself, I may learn to like this dentist. If you need me, I'll be summoning up the courage to make that call and get me penciled penned in to the appointment book.