the man who saved my life and never knew it

Because it was debilitating. It affects the way you eat, the way you talk, the way you walk, and the way you live. For years I was haunted by the pain and embarrassment.

Smile.

Mine was inadequate. So I felt.

Overdramatic? Slightly. Overemphasized? Not a chance.

I recently had the chance to revisit the man who saved my life and never knew it. Or perhaps he did. Perhaps he went into orthodontics because he knew how much a smile could change a life. Or it could have been the money, but for the sake of ignorant bliss I’ll go with the former.

My teeth are an immense source of pride and joy to me, and, I expect, to my parents who paid a lot of money to fix them. They were bad. Before I even went to the orthodontist, I had four of my permanent teeth cut out of my too small mouth. Anyone who knows me will see the irony of the previous sentence. I had a device that dental professionals like to call an expander, but that is actually more like a medieval torture device. Suffice it to say that this device involved a key that was inserted into the expander every night and cranked, yes, that is the word they used, to slowly widen your arch. I walked through fire for these pearly whites.

On the day my braces came off (one of the proudest of my life), the doctor fitted me with two permanent retainers- small pieces of wire attached to the back of my top and bottom teeth to keep them from moving back. Last night, as I was flossing my teeth (a challenge with the wires), the bottom one came unglued on the left side. I freaked. I was convinced that I could feel my teeth struggling back to their demented origins the moment the metal lost its grip. I woke up this morning and my bottom teeth ached with the paranoia that I would be returned to my adolescent awkwardness.

As I returned to the site of the pain, I wanted to say to all the people in the waiting room: you’re doing the right thing, push through. As I lay back in the chair, prepubescents on either side, my whole body was tense with anticipation. Logically, I knew that they were not going to hurt me- they were going to glue my retainer back in place. But I had to remind myself to breathe. In. Out.

I am a sucker for make-over shows. And I have a peculiar affection for the ones with the women whose teeth are so bad that they never smile. Imagine consciously suppressing every physical expression of happiness. That’s hard work. When the women see their new smiles for the first time they always start sobbing immediately. And I have to admit, it really gets to me. It’s not open-heart surgery, but in a way, it is saving a life.

They fixed my retainer and I left. I felt I should have expressed my appreciation for my teeth. I suppose that was my inspiration. An ode to my orthodontist, to my broken retainer. An ode to the smile.