I didn't go to the dentist growing up. That was a luxury for rich people, or else a crisis if Mom spotted something wrong with our teeth. And you better believe she checked them regularly. We brushed, and brushed, and sometimes brushed again.
And then in middle school two things happened that changed all that for a little bit. One, I started having nose bleeds. Two, I popped my jaw out of place (thanks to chewing gum and cheering at the same time). My Mom took me to the doctor, who was concerned that something else was wrong and might be causing the nose bleeds. He said he could feel something hard in the roof of my mouth that didn't feel right. And, my jaw was still out of whack.
By day four of not being able to eat anything nor talk without hurting (and facing the possibility of not being able to cheer at the next basketball game), I dumbly followed a classmate's advice and took my fist and gave my jaw quite a hard hit, literally popping it back in place. I do not recommend that. But it was back in joint, though I could hear fluid moving every time I moved my jaw.
Two days later, we arrived at the office of the oral surgeon, who advised me to a) never chew gum and cheer again, b) not hit myself anymore, and c) not to tell anyone else how I got my jaw back in place or he'd be out of work. He did some x-rays of my mouth, and I discovered that I was abnormal.
The tooth that never wanted to grow back after being pulled and when it did was 3/4 the size of the one next to it and that made all the boys laugh at me in elementary school? Turns out that wasn't my permanent tooth after all. I simply had an extra tooth, and my permanent tooth is still in the roof of my mouth. The surgeon wanted to pull the small tooth, put me in braces, surgically attach bands to the correct tooth and pull it into place (which would take at least 6 months, followed by two years of braces). My mom refused. She informed him my tooth had served me well for many years and there was no point in having surgrey for vanity's sake. In the back of my mind, I also knew my family simply didn't have the money.
Fast forward several years. My godparents were home from Africa, and my Mom was sharing with them what all the doctor had said. Whether they realized I never opened my mouth when I smiled then or not I don't know, but they offered to pay for the procedure if I wanted it done. Mother asked me about it after I left. I knew her reasoning, but I also wanted to have a normal smile, too. I could see the pain in her eyes, and deep down I knew her reasoning for not having the surgery was valid, so I refused it.
I was reminded of all that today. We had our regular check-up with the dentist (my husband is crazy adamant about that, which I despise to no end) today. There was a new hygenist, and as always, and which I'm momentarily puzzled about, she got confused as she was cleaning my upper teeth. As I've reached adulthood, that "small tooth" has dropped lower in line and isn't as noticeable as it used to be. But it's still an incorrect tooth in the wrong place. So I gave her a brief explanation. And when I left? She was still marveling that I do not have one cavity or filling. Never have, and I hope I never do. But what she did say that did my inner heart good? My Mom was a wise woman and made a very smart choice. According to her, had they pulled the good little tooth and operated to pull my big tooth down, they most likely would have messed up the spacing in my mouth. She said people who pull teeth for looks (and not because of a medical reason such as a small mouth, etc) wind up having to return for touch up surgeries every 5-10 years. That wasn't the exact wording she used, but that's the summary of what she said.
So thanks, Mom. Thanks for being a good steward of not just our finances, but also of my teeth. :)
And then in middle school two things happened that changed all that for a little bit. One, I started having nose bleeds. Two, I popped my jaw out of place (thanks to chewing gum and cheering at the same time). My Mom took me to the doctor, who was concerned that something else was wrong and might be causing the nose bleeds. He said he could feel something hard in the roof of my mouth that didn't feel right. And, my jaw was still out of whack.
By day four of not being able to eat anything nor talk without hurting (and facing the possibility of not being able to cheer at the next basketball game), I dumbly followed a classmate's advice and took my fist and gave my jaw quite a hard hit, literally popping it back in place. I do not recommend that. But it was back in joint, though I could hear fluid moving every time I moved my jaw.
Two days later, we arrived at the office of the oral surgeon, who advised me to a) never chew gum and cheer again, b) not hit myself anymore, and c) not to tell anyone else how I got my jaw back in place or he'd be out of work. He did some x-rays of my mouth, and I discovered that I was abnormal.
The tooth that never wanted to grow back after being pulled and when it did was 3/4 the size of the one next to it and that made all the boys laugh at me in elementary school? Turns out that wasn't my permanent tooth after all. I simply had an extra tooth, and my permanent tooth is still in the roof of my mouth. The surgeon wanted to pull the small tooth, put me in braces, surgically attach bands to the correct tooth and pull it into place (which would take at least 6 months, followed by two years of braces). My mom refused. She informed him my tooth had served me well for many years and there was no point in having surgrey for vanity's sake. In the back of my mind, I also knew my family simply didn't have the money.
Fast forward several years. My godparents were home from Africa, and my Mom was sharing with them what all the doctor had said. Whether they realized I never opened my mouth when I smiled then or not I don't know, but they offered to pay for the procedure if I wanted it done. Mother asked me about it after I left. I knew her reasoning, but I also wanted to have a normal smile, too. I could see the pain in her eyes, and deep down I knew her reasoning for not having the surgery was valid, so I refused it.
I was reminded of all that today. We had our regular check-up with the dentist (my husband is crazy adamant about that, which I despise to no end) today. There was a new hygenist, and as always, and which I'm momentarily puzzled about, she got confused as she was cleaning my upper teeth. As I've reached adulthood, that "small tooth" has dropped lower in line and isn't as noticeable as it used to be. But it's still an incorrect tooth in the wrong place. So I gave her a brief explanation. And when I left? She was still marveling that I do not have one cavity or filling. Never have, and I hope I never do. But what she did say that did my inner heart good? My Mom was a wise woman and made a very smart choice. According to her, had they pulled the good little tooth and operated to pull my big tooth down, they most likely would have messed up the spacing in my mouth. She said people who pull teeth for looks (and not because of a medical reason such as a small mouth, etc) wind up having to return for touch up surgeries every 5-10 years. That wasn't the exact wording she used, but that's the summary of what she said.
So thanks, Mom. Thanks for being a good steward of not just our finances, but also of my teeth. :)
Comments