Throwing the Teeth Into the Long Grass

The assembly hall was packed with first years. They had not quite worked out the older years’ cynicism or their need to push the boundaries, not yet, and sat with a quiet well-behaved-ness that was perhaps a little unsettling. They were gathered for a visiting speaker, someone from Oral B or Colgate ready with a powerpoint to hand to talk about how to best look after one’s teeth. Did they hand out toothbrushes and small tubes of toothpaste? It’s possible.

She did not begin with a show of hands of who had brushed or not brushed that morning. She asked no one to raise their hand if they were wearing a brace. There was no questionnaire about dentist visits or latest fillings. She showed a small Youtube clip demonstrating how and for how long teeth were to be brushed. The danger of gum disease and tooth loss was mentioned. The end comment was ‘Do you really want to kiss someone with false teeth?’ encouraging a communal ‘Eeew’.

It was a this point I nearly stood up with a loud, ‘Yes, I do.’ Not just any lips that hide false teeth you understand? My husband has false teeth. A top set of partial dentures. A Glasgow upbringing, living on a small wage, getting by, dental health wasn’t at the top of the list. On one of our dating days I remember sitting on the floor, back against the sofa. We were watching TV. There was a clacking noise just behind me and I turned around. He blushed red, did the husband-not-yet. He confessed to playing with his teeth. So, with him in mind, I was tempted to speak up for all the wallie wearers in the room. People were dealing with all sorts of issues and highlighting those with dentures didn’t seem fair. Not all wallie wearers are elderly.

They did not have those kinds of assemblies in my day. We sang hymns and said prayers and no mention was made of graffiti on the walls of the toilets – or indeed the correct way to clean teeth. The government trusted parents and did not feel the need to step in.

Two weeks ago I was fitted with my own set of dentures. A partial denture on the top gum and a full set on the bottom gum and a caution that it will take time to get used to them. It had been a long and expensive journey to get there. There were times when I felt that along with the teeth, the wobbly teeth, getting extracted, my confidence was being pulled out too and tossed into a tray. (I was asked if I wanted to keep them – like some people like to hold on to their gallstones. I graciously declined.)

I’m into my second week of wearing them. I say that loosely as at times I am not wearing them at all. The top denture, possibly because it is partial, has been accepted and welcomed by the remaining teeth. The bottom denture? Ouch! I am working my way through a tube of Bonjela and following an online suggestion to take them out every four hours just to rest the gum. Yesterday I ventured into the joy of Fixadent. I don’t have a big mouth, which may surprise you. I don’t have a huge depth of bone so there’s less security. The dentist said it was OK occasionally for those special meals. Soup doesn’t rate as special but I felt secure eating soup. The fruit crumble was a tester as the crumble was very crunchy and the apples not too smooth. The custard was awesome. I’m not generally eating sweet stuff but I felt the need to relax the rules a wee bit, comfort food because I needed comfort.

It's been tough. I was warned by some it would be tough and told by others it was a stroll in the park. If it is the stroll in the park, I am tempted at times to toss the teeth into the long grass.

Adapting to anything is not always easy. My sister and I often exchange updates on getting older and the things we can no longer do. She struggles to put her socks on in the morning. I struggle to get back to my feet after kneeling down. I was in the garden the other day tackling the newly hatched weeds in a flower border. It is a rare activity, me weeding. Getting down was no problem. I think God suggested I might like to pray while I was down there. I do pray, but not on my knees. It is the getting up that challenges me. It might be worth selling tickets for the entertainment value.

Adapting. We all do it, of course. Couples marry. Babies are born. Kids go off

to school. Employment is fragile. The body begins to fall part. Fires burn down forests and the houses next to it. And the Covid virus in all its reincarnations lurks around the corner.

Adapting begins when we come to the truth that nothing stays the same. Maybe all those first years with their knowledge of how to brush their teeth properly can stave off the days when the dentures are fitted. Maybe they will never have to wear them, but maybe they will. The dentist and I were talking about those news reports of people pulling out their own teeth because there were too few NHS dentists and the cost of private treatment was beyond their budget. We can plan all we like but still things happen and we face the challenge of adapting. There are so many things that we didn’t plan to happen, but they did.

I think, perhaps, that having to adapt to the new challenge is made easier if there is something unchanging we can tie ourselves to. A friend of mine is starting a deep space/telescope course. We had been talking about the recent blue super moon. We agreed that our knowledge of star constellations was vague at best. Navigating by the stars is not a skill most people know, not when there are satellites to do it for you. But stars never change. What is it in our lives that never changes? Who or what are our unchanging stars?

My unchanging star is my faith in a God who never changes.