The wider the smile the harder it is to hide any anomalies. My anomaly is a silver tooth masquerading as enamel. Well! This is what my dentist failed to consider when he recommended I go for a silver tooth.
Let me go back to the time I agreed to the masquerade.
A smiling, lively dentist, whom I met for the first time, asked me to recline on his black leather couch. I look furtively for a straight backed chair to discuss my problem first but it appears that the reclining position is the best. I feel defenseless and exposed. But he smiles on. While we talk I peer at his teeth and I can even see the epiglottis.
When we are done understanding the procedure, the different treatments and I have relaxed a bit, he slips on a pair of gloves and says pleasantly, “I am going to numb you out,” tapping my paining molar with something steely. I half get up, he gently pushes me down and adds, “The tooth is perilously close to extraction, but I am going to save it.” I look at him gratefully, as I communicate with my eyes, since my lips are being pulled by a gloved finger.
“Let’s hope the filling holds,” he says ruefully. “The extraction will be complicated as the roots are curved into the gum”. “I will have to cut into the jaw,” he adds. In panic I push his hand and rise from my reclining position. At that moment he looks like Gabbar Singh and the epiglottis like a sword over my head. I am frozen with terror; my courage is at sub-zero level. Relax he says, pushing me back again, “that’s routine, you won’t feel a thing.” I resist his push and ask, “How much will it cost?” “Check with the receptionists,” he says thoroughly looking at all of my teeth. ”There are three other cavities,” I immediately multiply my agony and his fortune. My unfettered eyes see the castles he is building with my bank balance.
“Would you like to make an appointment?”, he asks after a while. I gargle a reply. It is impossible to discuss anything as wads of cotton are stuck in my cheeks and a tube inserted into my mouth which steals away every drop of spittle. .
He ceases his ministrations for a while and I wait for the magic word rinse. I am actually desperate for a drink and wonder if I will die if some water for rinsing does get into my windpipe.
The drilling probing and sound of instruments continues a little while longer. I feel my lip has got a tear. Then he lifts his head and says ‘bite”. I look around for something to bite. “Bite what?” I say. My words are slurred and my tongue feels heavy and wordless.
“Your teeth – Bite and grind,” he says, still smiling. I slip away from the couch, I have fizzy feet and my right jaw feels like it does not exist.
As I am emptying my purse at the receptionist I promise myself that I will take better care of my teeth. But the appointment leading up to the silver tooth continued. On the final date the dentist and I both looked into the mirror and I smiled and there in the corner we saw the glint of silver. Too late.
Today when I smile – you see what anybody would see – rows of teeth, a tongue, a palate AND at the end of the smile the glint of silver.
