Braces would fix my snaggletooth…unfortunately I hadn’t discovered tweezers yet.
Unfortunately for my brothers and me (and my parents’ checkbook) we needed braces. I’m forever grateful that my parents sacrificed so that we could have the beautiful smiles that we have today. But I must also point out that the whole braces “experience” wasn’t exactly a cakewalk – especially compared to the luxurious orthodontic offices of today. Plus, most current orthodontists aren’t sadists like ours was.
But before I explain my horrific visits to that guy, I must first point out that my initial teeth experiences were a little odd. Yes, I’m talking about the Tooth Fairy.
While other kids were getting things from the Tooth Fairy like 50-cent pieces or even dollars under their pillows, I would awaken to find maybe a dime and a nickel, along with several other little surprises. I didn’t get jewelry or candy or anything that a 5-year-old girl wanted. Instead, I got maybe a dime and some tiny spare parts. That’s what happens when your dad the electrician was in charge of Tooth Fairy duty. Instead of sprinkling fairy dust under my pillow, I’d have a trail of wire nuts and Romex® connectors. But I never really questioned it, and I never complained, either. It was all part of the mystery, I guess. Being the stupid little Polish kid that I was, I never did put two and two together that my dad – an electrician – was the Tooth Fairy.
As my adult teeth were coming in, it had become quite apparent that like my brothers before me, I, too, would need braces. Enter my orthodontist, who basically had a monopoly on the entire snaggle-toothed population in the immediate surrounding area. The only other orthodontist who would have been available was some guy who’d been fighting tax evasion charges, so I guess the safer bet was to go with the guy who had a better chance of finishing the job. The last thing I’d wanted was for the IRS to storm in and shut the joint down while I still had wires sticking out of my mouth.
Before I explain the house of horrors (aka the orthodontist’s office), I must take a moment to once again complain about how today’s kids have it so easy. I know this firsthand because several years ago I started taking my stepdaughter to her own orthodontic appointments.
Apparently, orthodontists today are concerned about things like “comfort” and “fun.” I’m not sure exactly when the industry started going soft, but I’m guessing it was around the time kids’ sports teams started handing out ribbons for participation.
I realized that things had really changed when the super-friendly dental assistant cheerfully asked my stepdaughter what flavor she wanted for the mold of her mouth.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “You mean to tell me you people have flavors now?
“Oh yes!” she smiled proudly. “We can do mint or strawberry or even bubble gum!”
I sighed and shook my head. Unreal. Back in my day, there was only one flavor for the mouth mold, and that flavor was CEMENT.
The next thing I noticed was the overall ambience. My stepdaughter’s ortho office had cool, retro album covers on the walls, and pictures or puzzles on the ceiling to entertain the patient while they’re reclined and getting their braces tightened. Plus, there was a rock station on the radio. My ortho office featured no cool artwork of any kind, unless you counted all of the threatening pictures of kids’ messed-up, rotten, disease-infested mouths. Those were meant as warnings to us if we didn’t wear our headgear or forgot to floss. It kind of gave a whole new meaning to “Scared Straight.”
And finally, I can’t forget the orthodontist swag. So apparently nowadays if you do what you’re told (avoid taffy, skillfully pick the food out of your braces, wear your headgear, etc.) you get cool prizes like certificates for pizza. The only “prize” I’d ever received was a crummy white tee shirt with an illustrated stick-figure brace-faced girl. It said something like “Brace Yourself!” on it in big letters. That was only something I’d wear with my headgear if my name was Joan Cusack, and I was headed to the dance with Samantha Baker and Long Duck Dong.
Oh, and I almost forgot about the technology. My stepdaughter’s very personable orthodontist took the time to show us this super-high-tech mini-movie about how her teeth would get fixed and put into their proper place. It was freaking amazing; I’m pretty sure it won a tech award at the Oscars. I wanted to crack open a box of popcorn and watch it again it was so good. Needless to say, my orthodontist hadn’t ever showed me anything on the office Apple IIe, except for maybe the outstanding balance on my hefty bill.
But I was tough back in the 80s; I could handle all of those inconveniences, and I never really mentioned them. After all, that’s the way things were; we didn’t know any better. Besides, things always couldn’t be super-comfortable all of the time – how else would I have learned to deal with adversity later in my life, right? However, one thing I probably could have done without was the pain.
It was obvious that my orthodontist subscribed to the crank methodology of orthodontics. (There must be some technical term for it, but when all is said and done, and translated from Latin, I’m pretty sure we’d be left with a loose translation of “crank method.”) He could barely contain his pleasure as he pulled and yanked on my teeth as hard as he possibly could. I never had found out what was behind that one locked door, but my guess is that it was a gym so that Doc could stay in fine shape and beat on all of those young metal mouths.
To add insult to injury, my orthodontist didn’t even fix my teeth right. Sure, I look great compared to those cleft-palate kids in the backs of magazines. But then look a little closer, and you’ll see that my bottom teeth all overlap each other. And it sure as hell wasn’t because I hadn’t worn my retainer afterward – I wore that thing religiously. (Don’t get me started on Retainers Now vs. Retainers Then. As you can tell, technology really pisses me off sometimes, especially when I see how easy it makes life for others while I had to suffer.)
Apparently my overbite hadn’t been fixed properly because when I bite down my front teeth cover my bottom teeth. They’d wound up bumping into each other, and then my lower teeth had gotten all crooked again. All that money and time and pain, and my mouth is still messed up.
But at least … at least … I have this brief shining moment of glory and revenge ….
At one appointment my orthodontist kept asking me to bite down on a piece of plastic he kept shoving into my mouth. That went on for quite awhile. Insert, bite down. Insert, bite down. After some time it had become rather rhythmic, and he didn’t even have to tell me to bite down. I just did. And then, instead of inserting the long orange plastic thing, he inserted his finger. And I bit down. I bit down hard.
While it’s true it was an accident, I have to admit I had felt a bit of retribution. The rest of the patients around me heard the demonic doctor cry out in pain, and they all looked at me in a mixture of awe, gratefulness, and envy. I was like that brave orphan who had stomped on Ms. Hannigan’s foot. If they hadn’t been strapped down, they probably would have started to clap. But then again that would have been pretty risky; come time for their own brace tightening, our sadistic doctor could easily have gone into full-throttle crank mode, much like the life-sucking device used on Westley in “The Princess Bride.”
No, we would have to take that small victory for what it was: a small step for the young, tortured, mangled-mouthed souls, who would soon lead the way toward the more peaceful, kinder orthodontic experience that exists today.
You’re welcome, kids.
Oh my goodness. .you nailed the orthodontist!!!