Ruby Grimshaw says goodbye to her tooth

I seem to be going to the dentist a lot this year which can’t be good. The dichotomy though is that I have a private insurance policy and if it is not used then the premiums are wasted. Still, after my fifth visit this year to my dental practice I think I have covered the cost of several premiums.

Today another poor tooth bit the dust. It had been filled, refilled, and root-canalled (yuck) but no more could be done and I was glad to see the back of it. I insisted on an inspection when it lay in the dish, and was somewhat reassured that its best days were definitely over. Now I have more gaps than teeth. My excuse is that I grew up in the post-war era when drilling – using the old fashioned drills that sounded like the ones they use on the roads and caused the whole body to shake – was considered to be the latest in modern dentistry, and from the age of ten my poor teeth didn’t stand a chance. My brother always refused to go, and though he is older, his teeth are much better than mine, as he is not slow to point out.

“I was somewhat reassured that its best days were definitely over”

So, another tooth will have to be added to my bridge. Soon there won’t be any teeth left to fix it to, and all those adverts for denture adhesives to prevent your false teeth from falling into your vegetable masala will not appear so amusing to me any longer. I find it hard to believe that in the ’30s the best wedding present, and only possible for the rich, was considered to be a complete set of gleaming dentures, top and bottom. The young bride would have all her teeth taken out and false gnashers made in time for the wedding, the pay off being that she would not suffer dental pain ever again. The honeymoon must have been a voyage of discovery for all but it shows what little faith people had in dentistry in those days. I must count myself lucky.

I was pleasantly surprised at how easily my tooth said goodbye to my mouth. More difficult was avoiding alcohol and hot cups of tea for a whole day. Daughter C reminds me how, when her sister S was about eight, I tied her very wobbly tooth to the door handle and quickly closed the door. I pretend not to remember and say I could never have been so cruel. But I was and it worked perfectly.