Dentistry

 

Dentistry

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

There was a time when the title ‘dentist’ covered all practitioners in the treatment of teeth. My one-time best friend’s father insisted on being called a ‘dental surgeon’ – a little more high-class, for his wife was of that ilk, though he was perfectly normal. My friend had beautiful teeth, but her father’s were like tombstones!

There are so many specialities now. My first introduction to orthodontistry was when my youngest daughter wanted her teeth straightened. She had lovely teeth, with a beguiling gap between her two top teeth, which I thought very attractive but she didn’t. So off she went to have a shiny band fitted. Over several months, the procedure worked and she ended up with what I refer to as ‘American teeth’.

That was a far cry from my middle daughter’s experience. She had a removable brace, which she was told not to wear during sport or when eating. As she was always doing one or the other, the brace was hardly ever employed, and, in fact, at one point was found gathering dust in a corner of the porch. Nonetheless, when she went back to the dentist, he pronounced himself pleased with the ‘result’ and that was the end of the treatment.

Nowadays, having braces fitted is a rite of passage and there’s barely a pubescent child in the country who doesn’t sport train tracks. I’m expecting Frankie and Isla, first and second cousins, both eleven, to honour the tradition any day.

On Tuesday, after the palaver with the cars, I visited the Entodontist. It sounds as though I went for tea and cake, but actually I had a consultation with a really nice specialist. My dentist, also a thoroughly pleasant chap, thought I might need root canal work as I had developed an abscess, which cleared up swiftly with antibiotics. It was the day before my birthday when he gave me his opinion and referral, so that was an unexpected gift.

I was given a short course in dentistry, or, at least, that’s what it felt like. I do find it difficult to look as though I’m intelligent, but I managed to appear as though I understood every last word.

Anyway, after a thorough investigation, when, at one point, I thought I was going to be let off the root canal work, a further appointment was made for me to sit and have my gum excavated or something like that. After a while, I no longer hear what people are telling me because I’m wondering where they live and do they have children and what led them to this detective work called endodontistry.

Endodontics is all to do with pain relief, I discovered. I shall know more in a few weeks’ time. One dentist told my daughter that she had patients fall asleep during the procedure. Barry had to go to Harley Street to a very upmarket practice and spent his time in the chair watching videos. I’m just going fifteen minutes away, probably in the dog box, to sit and twiddle my thumbs and wish the two hours gone.

Did you know that, in the States, ‘more than 15 million root canals are performed every year. That means over 41,000 are performed every day.’ ?

Pam Ayres’ poem, ‘I wish I’d looked after me teeth’ is fun to listen to. I love her accent. My first job was in her home village.