1 January 2010

Before going on, I'm taking a moment to look back, to explain why this teeth thing is such a big deal for me.

I have to go way back, to when I was 17 years old. I had come back from seeing my family abroad, and was staying with my grandparents in London. The day after arriving at Heathrow, my Grandma took me to the dentist.

I thought I was just there for a check-up. I had a huge fright when the dentist started rummaging around in my mouth, saying things like "forceps please, Nurse". I should have shouted, or got up and left. I was in too much shock to do anything, so I just lay there while he pulled out my right canine tooth.

My Grandma thought it was very funny. She and my Mum had arranged this without telling me.

I knew my teeth were a bit crooked, and that my sticking-out canines would have to be tamed some day, but I had hoped to have some say in the process.

Not only did the guy pull my tooth out, but he also chopped away the bit of bone that held it in its (admittedly unusual) position at the front of my gum. I had to have stitches and everything.

As the final touch, he filed down the first premolar on that side and had a crown made for me to "look like" the missing canine tooth. It never did. Over the years, my teeth skewed round to one side, off-centre, and I never lost the sense of something being forcibly taken from me, and of being ever so slightly deformed as a result.

Now I had the chance to do something.