Gnashing of teeth

I have very bad teeth. It’s a good thing I love my dentist.

Dr P is a Muslim woman. I suppose she is in her late 30s . I first met her two years ago when in agony that I am sure is worse than childbirth, I googled emergency dentist near me and, out of my mind on painkillers and bourbon, I stumbled into her surgery and begged for her help.

OK perhaps not as bad as childbirth but certainly less productive and absolutely a lot worse than any bone I’ve broken or surgery I’ve had.

Dr P is slightly built with sharp, alert features and a ready smile. But the two things I like most about her are her fingers, which are quick and nimble and precise in their latex gloves, and her deep brown eyes.

What I love most about her eyes is their animation. On that wonderful day when I first lay under her lights and looked past my pain and the dazzle of the lights and into those focused pupils as they surveyed the ruins of my canines and the eroded mountain range of my molars what I saw was the unmistakable dilation of excitement.

When she realised just how technically challenging the repair would be, she was pleased. To her my mouth presented a dental obstacle course.

The rest of her face was covered but her whole demeanour was animated as her elfin hands darted and picked and scraped and tapped my chompers. When she rolled her chair back and invited me to look at the x-ray and explained to me the source of my torment, I could see that behind the professional display of empathy for my suffering, she was taking real pleasure in her work.

And I liked that.

Not enough to keep me coming back though .I abandoned her and the thorough oral rehabilitation plan she had outlined as soon as she had relieved my pain and done sufficient repair to allow me to eat comfortably again.

My teeth are not bad through neglect. Some damage was done by a cricket ball, and made worse by a fight with a school bully. But the biggest factor is that I have for years and years ground my teeth. This I do mainly in my sleep and particularly strongly at times of stress.

I am not aware that I do it. I only realise that I have been doing it when I become aware of an ache in the jaw hinge or my teeth hurt. Neither is there a visible sign that I do it. The only clue is a clicking sound that occurs when I am asleep. That and the particularly strong muscles above the hinge of my jaw and a pronounced ridge of bone at the back of my jawbone are the only external markers of this habit.

Over time, this puts a lot of stress on my teeth and in recent years they have started to crack and splinter.

What causes this? Textbooks ascribe it to that ubiquitous of human emotions, anxiety. This is possible. In some schools of dream analysis teeth relate to transitions and shifts between developmental stages. (The idea being that as infants we teethe which marks a developmental shift, we lose our milk teeth and grow our adult teeth and that marks another developmental transition and so these experiences of teeth hurting and breaking are coded into the soma as markers of psychic transition.) That doesn’t seem like it applies to me.

Linguistically numerous phrases indicating stoic struggle in opposition to something frequently refer to this area of the body. Phrases such as “setting one’s jaw”, “gritting one’s teeth”, “taking it on the chin” come to mind. Also a square jaw is associated with strength and standing resolute. This does resonate. Not in the sense of a square jawed hero but that I often do feel that I am having to brace and hold myself against the pressures of life.

I will think about this more.

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So it is that two years after my first series of appointments with the excellent Dr P, and hiding my embarrassment at my non-compliance with the prescribed treatment, I skulked into her surgery this morning, once again beseeching her aid. Actually I sort of fell on my sword. I called myself the worst kind of patient, who comes when desperate and bolts as soon as there is symptom remission and doesn’t allow the root cause to be treated.

“Funny you should say root” said Dr P raising an immaculately trimmed eyebrow to frame a gleam of pleasure. Clearly she was anticipating a good few hours of canal work.

She was of course gracious and reassuring. I read in her bio that she likes to work with children and uses play therapy techniques to render the visit less daunting. This is further evidence that I am in the right place and without promising me a lollipop, within moments she had me eating out of her hand.

Fifteen minutes later she had relieved the pressure on my painful jaw, given me a prescription for antibiotics for the infection and invited me to participate in a restoration project that sounds as complex as the widening of the Milnerton interchange, even more expensive and that culminates in a plastic mouth guard to be worn while sleeping.

It strikes me as a plan guaranteed to worsen my insomnia.

What the hell – I’m in.