I watch him as he examines my x-rays. He frowns as he rubs his chin, a four o’clock shadow emerging at three in the afternoon. For me, it is nearly midnight as I recover from jet lag and a trans – Atlantic trip.
“They were pretty bad before we started but the ortho’s just done for them. It happens sometimes. Speeded up the process. She’s right, you’ll be lucky if they last the year. You’d be throwing good money away.” [translation = four of your teeth are falling out braces or no braces, surgery or no surgery] I say nothing. [translation = sulk]
He doesn’t say it, but I know he wants to – ‘you should have had this all done 25 years ago when you were young.’ But of course such procedures didn’t exist 25 years ago, especially in England. I have the temptation to stomp my feet and shout ‘not fair,’ but I’m sitting down. I’ve been in braces for three and a half years. I could drop down dead tomorrow and I’d still be wearing braces. I could drop down dead the day after tomorrow with four more teeth missing and still wearing braces. If the procedures are ever finished I will probably drop down dead the very next day and never get a return on my investment. It’s all a scam to filch me of my very last pound. [translation = dollar]
“I’ll be o.k. Implants are painless by comparison to what you’ve already been through, it’ll be a sinch!” [translation = but you’ll be financially bankrupt] “Tell you what, it’s not gonna cost you any more time. You’ll be done by……done by Christmas as long as you have it done straight away.” I pretend to read the documents, all the risks, no liability, no come back. I should have had them all extracted when we first landed in SF airport 12 years ago and gone for dentures and been done with it.
“Open up, let me have another look.” He prods me with one foot Q-tips. “That’s a great bite! You look great.” [Translation = each tooth meets it’s friend]
I pout which is hard to do when your mouth is arched open fighting the opposing force of the elastic bands. I’m tempted to bite off the end off his Q-tip. I debate whether I am angry, sad or poor?
I suspect he is also a thought reader. “Come on, everything else has been covered by your medical insurance, medically necessary. This is just the last step!”
I don’t point out the 20% that wasn’t covered, to say nothing of missing 6 months of my life. [translation = eating and talking] I can’t help debate whether my fees will constitute a new dishwasher in his household or a foreign holiday? [translation = disingenuous] I would like to mutter about a second opinion, but I already know that he’s the best there is.
I think of all the relatives and friends that we met during our recent holiday in England, where I swore that everything would be done at the very latest by Christmas. I watched approximately 53 faces sigh, roll their eyes and shake their heads.
“Doctor E and doctor H met over lunch to discuss your case you know. They have your best interests at heart. He’s not sure if you can take much more of this, so this is definitely your best option rather than trying to do it later.” I smirk! Bet they chewed all their delicious lunch, masticated every morsel, chatting with their fully functioning teeth about the poor skeletal individual that they have conspired to make truly miserable. [translation = sour grapes]
“You shouldn’t feel bad you know,” I look him straight in the pupils as he adds, “it’s just genetic!” I check to see if there is any hint of irony or sarcasm. There isn’t, not a trace.
I burst out "laughing."
15 hours ago
