Firstly, hello. Secondly, I've discovered tooth based idioms are in short supply, I am clearly not the first person to blog about my experience with braces or "tooth alignment".
Today I'm setting off to the dentist to have my braces fitted. I have been packing myself for weeks about this and today I am trying to hide what an anxious mess I really am.
For you see, I don't really want braces.
Which is all well and good to say, I'm sure no-one actually wants them, but until recently I didn't need them either. So how did we get here? Me, sitting on the top deck of a big red bus winding its way around London on route to having my face rearranged, packing my pants and having a existential crisis about my decision making?
Let's go back!
New Zealand, 1992:
I'm 12, I've got most of my adult teeth and they look pretty good. What I haven't yet got is my canines, they're late to the party in my face.
Like any latecomers, they show up already having had a few too many, they push in, want to hit on my sexy incisors, pass out and never go home.
The effect is dramatic and there is now obvious overcrowding.
1994:
Mum takes me to the dentist, who says I don't need braces. My bite is perfectly fine apparently. I'm not a fan of how I look, but I'm pragmatic. This is the same year I discover punk rock (which is awesome).
2001:
I'm at cricket training (it's perfectly alright for someone to like punk rock AND cricket). I'm fit, I'm fast and training with a bunch of first class cricketers. One of whom middles the ball (hits rather as well as he can), while batting (can't leave that out), this ball then travels towards a rather unsuspecting gentleman (me) who believes he is standing in a safe position (the net next door), but who receives the rather full force of the ball in the face.
Now you may or may not know that much about cricket balls, but they are extremely hard and when they hit you, they hurt, which is why cricket players where all that padding, helmets etc. This ball was in keeping with traditional balls in the sense that it was very hard and it really did hurt.
What I remember of the moment was just catching the ball out of the corner of my eye before impact, not enough time to react. I remember the impact, just to the side of my lips on the left side of my face. I remember the sickening sound that it made and the sound everybody else made, the impact clearly looked to them like it felt to me. I remember dropping to one knee, then passing out.
Moments later, I look up to see a gaggle of worried faces looking down at me. One of the seasoned pros says "that's a bad one" and walks away like he's seen it all before, that or to throw up. Someone asks if I'm ok, I touch my face, there's no blood, I think I said there was no blood - that person looks at me like he's telling a child Santa isn't real and says I should touch my face now. There is A LOT of blood.
I get up and stagger to the bathroom, I get to the sink and look in the mirror, I am covered in blood.
I wash my face, my lip has been torn open and will eventually swell up around my eye. The canine, both premolars and lateral incisor on the top left had side of my face have been knocked in. My cheeks and tongue are a wash of blood from where teeth have sliced them. I will require a number of stitches.
Several weeks of healing later and I'm feeling rather fortunate. My lip heeled very well with no lingering sign of the accident save for a cute little dimple which causes the edge of my lip to turn up slightly into a not out of character cheeky grin.
I am however aware of my teeth's new position and I go to see my dentist. He says, rather matter of factly, that I will now require braces. It's a nuisance, but not a huge shock. I will have to claim government insurance for the work to be done (in New Zealand it's known as ACC and is generally a very good thing, it's why we don't rampantly sue each other, we don't need to). So off to the ACC dentist I go to be assessed for a second opinion, an opinion that consists of me being "a very unattractive man", but that "I don't need braces". In his opinion, regardless of how unattractive he believed me to be, the teeth didn't die and therefore ACC shouldn't pay for the work to be done.
This guy was a first class arsehole, but I left, rather jarred by my experience, but assuming that's how things would be.
Still 2001:
Seriously, big year, I was hosting breakfast radio, playing in a band, had a sexy girlfriend, life was pretty cool.
My best friend and I then put together an audition tape for a new late night TV music show, we thought we had a pretty good chance. We were young, funny, we knew our stuff. The feedback from the broadcaster was the same, but we wouldn't be progressing further "off the record" it was because I didn't have straight teeth.
This was a hammer blow and quite upsetting. On one hand gutted I wasn't going to get to chase this dream, but also guilty I felt I was holding my friend back too. On the other, angry that our talent wasn't recognised for what it was and that the decision instead came down to looks, that wasn't punk rock and it rankled me terribly. We all know that's the way TV went in the end, but it's still bullshit.
Seriously, still 2001:
This is when my teeth really started to play on my mind, I suddenly felt they were holding me back. However I was part of a punk rock community that would never give a fuck.. to put it bluntly and I loved that. So began 17 years of conflict between my professional ambitions and personal ethos.
London, 2018:
I moved from New Zealand to England a while ago. A tooth I broke while at film school in 2007 was again giving me trouble and I went to the dentist fully expecting it to be removed (I still can't believe I had this tooth, the fact it was rebuilt and remained in my face after what that hard shelled taco did to it was nothing short of a miracle in my opinion).
However, once again, a clever and determined dentist managed to save the tooth and all for the princely sum of just £50. I was gobsmacked. For you see dental is nationalised in Britain and it is not in New Zealand. The cost of dental in New Zealand is a national disgrace and the real primary reason for anyone avoiding the dentist in that part of the world.
I mentioned my accident to the dentist and the fact that my teeth had continued to move over the years. She suggested I see an orthodontist and buoyed by the relative lack of expense I had just been privy to, decided to take myself along.
Now London is a bit of a crap shoot when it comes to the price of anything, you can pretty much pay as much or as little as you want for anything. I saw three orthodontists who all said the same thing, that "I could get braces now or in the future, but that my teeth would continue to move", but who all offered the same service for three very different prices.
The problem I now had was that the premolars on the bottom left hand side of my mouth were now going under my tongue, pushed there by the premolars knocked in on the top.
I had come to accept that I would never have braces, I'm 38, my time in front of the camera has long since been replaced by working behind it. A slew of wonderful people accept me for me, my teeth have never been a hindrance to my love life and no-one ever made fun of me.
So, now, presented with an opportunity to have them, should I?
I did some serious visceral soul searching, felt my premolars with my tongue and went for the cheapest option.
Today I'm setting off to the dentist to have my braces fitted. I have been packing myself for weeks about this and today I am trying to hide what an anxious mess I really am.
For you see, I don't really want braces.
Which is all well and good to say, I'm sure no-one actually wants them, but until recently I didn't need them either. So how did we get here? Me, sitting on the top deck of a big red bus winding its way around London on route to having my face rearranged, packing my pants and having a existential crisis about my decision making?
Let's go back!
New Zealand, 1992:
I'm 12, I've got most of my adult teeth and they look pretty good. What I haven't yet got is my canines, they're late to the party in my face.
Like any latecomers, they show up already having had a few too many, they push in, want to hit on my sexy incisors, pass out and never go home.
The effect is dramatic and there is now obvious overcrowding.
1994:
Mum takes me to the dentist, who says I don't need braces. My bite is perfectly fine apparently. I'm not a fan of how I look, but I'm pragmatic. This is the same year I discover punk rock (which is awesome).
2001:
I'm at cricket training (it's perfectly alright for someone to like punk rock AND cricket). I'm fit, I'm fast and training with a bunch of first class cricketers. One of whom middles the ball (hits rather as well as he can), while batting (can't leave that out), this ball then travels towards a rather unsuspecting gentleman (me) who believes he is standing in a safe position (the net next door), but who receives the rather full force of the ball in the face.
Now you may or may not know that much about cricket balls, but they are extremely hard and when they hit you, they hurt, which is why cricket players where all that padding, helmets etc. This ball was in keeping with traditional balls in the sense that it was very hard and it really did hurt.
What I remember of the moment was just catching the ball out of the corner of my eye before impact, not enough time to react. I remember the impact, just to the side of my lips on the left side of my face. I remember the sickening sound that it made and the sound everybody else made, the impact clearly looked to them like it felt to me. I remember dropping to one knee, then passing out.
Moments later, I look up to see a gaggle of worried faces looking down at me. One of the seasoned pros says "that's a bad one" and walks away like he's seen it all before, that or to throw up. Someone asks if I'm ok, I touch my face, there's no blood, I think I said there was no blood - that person looks at me like he's telling a child Santa isn't real and says I should touch my face now. There is A LOT of blood.
I get up and stagger to the bathroom, I get to the sink and look in the mirror, I am covered in blood.
I wash my face, my lip has been torn open and will eventually swell up around my eye. The canine, both premolars and lateral incisor on the top left had side of my face have been knocked in. My cheeks and tongue are a wash of blood from where teeth have sliced them. I will require a number of stitches.
Several weeks of healing later and I'm feeling rather fortunate. My lip heeled very well with no lingering sign of the accident save for a cute little dimple which causes the edge of my lip to turn up slightly into a not out of character cheeky grin.
I am however aware of my teeth's new position and I go to see my dentist. He says, rather matter of factly, that I will now require braces. It's a nuisance, but not a huge shock. I will have to claim government insurance for the work to be done (in New Zealand it's known as ACC and is generally a very good thing, it's why we don't rampantly sue each other, we don't need to). So off to the ACC dentist I go to be assessed for a second opinion, an opinion that consists of me being "a very unattractive man", but that "I don't need braces". In his opinion, regardless of how unattractive he believed me to be, the teeth didn't die and therefore ACC shouldn't pay for the work to be done.
This guy was a first class arsehole, but I left, rather jarred by my experience, but assuming that's how things would be.
Still 2001:
Seriously, big year, I was hosting breakfast radio, playing in a band, had a sexy girlfriend, life was pretty cool.
My best friend and I then put together an audition tape for a new late night TV music show, we thought we had a pretty good chance. We were young, funny, we knew our stuff. The feedback from the broadcaster was the same, but we wouldn't be progressing further "off the record" it was because I didn't have straight teeth.
This was a hammer blow and quite upsetting. On one hand gutted I wasn't going to get to chase this dream, but also guilty I felt I was holding my friend back too. On the other, angry that our talent wasn't recognised for what it was and that the decision instead came down to looks, that wasn't punk rock and it rankled me terribly. We all know that's the way TV went in the end, but it's still bullshit.
Seriously, still 2001:
This is when my teeth really started to play on my mind, I suddenly felt they were holding me back. However I was part of a punk rock community that would never give a fuck.. to put it bluntly and I loved that. So began 17 years of conflict between my professional ambitions and personal ethos.
London, 2018:
I moved from New Zealand to England a while ago. A tooth I broke while at film school in 2007 was again giving me trouble and I went to the dentist fully expecting it to be removed (I still can't believe I had this tooth, the fact it was rebuilt and remained in my face after what that hard shelled taco did to it was nothing short of a miracle in my opinion).
However, once again, a clever and determined dentist managed to save the tooth and all for the princely sum of just £50. I was gobsmacked. For you see dental is nationalised in Britain and it is not in New Zealand. The cost of dental in New Zealand is a national disgrace and the real primary reason for anyone avoiding the dentist in that part of the world.
I mentioned my accident to the dentist and the fact that my teeth had continued to move over the years. She suggested I see an orthodontist and buoyed by the relative lack of expense I had just been privy to, decided to take myself along.
Now London is a bit of a crap shoot when it comes to the price of anything, you can pretty much pay as much or as little as you want for anything. I saw three orthodontists who all said the same thing, that "I could get braces now or in the future, but that my teeth would continue to move", but who all offered the same service for three very different prices.
The problem I now had was that the premolars on the bottom left hand side of my mouth were now going under my tongue, pushed there by the premolars knocked in on the top.
I had come to accept that I would never have braces, I'm 38, my time in front of the camera has long since been replaced by working behind it. A slew of wonderful people accept me for me, my teeth have never been a hindrance to my love life and no-one ever made fun of me.
So, now, presented with an opportunity to have them, should I?
I did some serious visceral soul searching, felt my premolars with my tongue and went for the cheapest option.
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