Brace face

I am two months into wearing grown-ass-man braces. Braces on my lowers, aligners on my uppers. Of the two, the actual old school metal braces are the least worst. I need to clean them fastidiously, and the general ouchieness of my teeth and jaw means I’m prioritizing a lot of soft foods. The aligners are a clear plastic tray that clamps on to my upper teeth. Invisialign is a common brand name, though I’m not sure if mine are those. My upper incisors, bicuspids, and first molars all have little resin ‘attachments’ glued to the surface of my teeth. They are the same color as teeth and are virtually invisible from a short distance. These attachments lock into cavaties in the aligner tray. They provide the necessary grip to torque and push and twist teeth into their proper position. On the back side of the aligner tray, some extra plastic is built in to create a resting place for my lower teeth. This is called a “bite ramp”. It keeps my jaw where it’s supposed to be and applies passive pressure in the right places throughout the day. It also happens to be positioned in my mouth exactly where my tongue likes to make an “S”. If you google “speaking problems with aligners” you’ll find a number of liars saying that most people adapt and speak normally in a few days. Liars. I sound like Sylvester the Cat. My Sean Connery impression has never been better. Sufferin’ succotash, Miss Moneypenny.

One is supposed to wear aligners for 20 to 22 hours a day. I am a Director of Technology, which means I talk for a living. Like, a lot. A point which I explained during my consultation. A point which was ignored. You are not supposed to drink anything but water while wearing an aligner. For a deranged coffee addict, this is unpleasant. Now, I time my coffee for my meetings, where I can wrench out the aligner, blot up the drool with a tissue (off camera), speak like an adult then thoughtfully sip my coffee while others talk. By the end of the day, the aligner feels like it has tripled in size. My tongue and mouth feel tired – which is weird. Brushing and flossing was once a chore, but now it’s a respite from wearing this horrible, giant saliva collector. Only 16 months to go. Hopefully.

But why even do all of this? Surely you’re not that vain? You’ve had a gappy smile all your life. It’s charming, just like Margaret Qualley’s. Stop, you’re too kind. About a year ago I had an exceptionally bad allergy season. The roof of my mouth swelled up so large I couldn’t fully close my jaw. Benadryl didn’t help. I asked my dentist. He shrugged and said “I dunno maybe surgery”. My wife, la Doctora, produced a steroid dental paste from her stash which reduced the swelling back to normal. The swelling lasted long enough and was so severe that my front teeth are no longere where they were. I looked in the mirror one day and noticed “oh. that’s different”.

I went back to my dentist (maybe I need a new dentist) and asked about an aligner to straighten things back out. I worried that teeth would keep drifting apart and may one day erupt out of my ear. He referred me to an orthodontist.

During my onboarding they stuck a contraption in my mouth to create a horrifying digital 3D model of my teeth. They had me stand in a special x-ray machine which takes pictures of your whole skull. I got to see the inside of my own head. I remembered a nightmare I had as a child where the flesh fell from my face and head revealing the red stained skull beneath. I learned that I have a stronger-than-average bite.

So sure. I could fix the slight misalignment. But, they told me, if you don’t fix the overall alignment (deep bite, over jetting), with your stronger-than-average bite, you’ll just slowly push your teeth out of your face (paraphrasing). I think I might want a carrot when I’m 70. I chose this deeply annoying path. I’m very fortunate to have some dental insurance coverage and can afford to pay for the rest. So, I’m trying to stay in a positive frame of mind. I can tell that teeth are moving. I can feel it. Progress is heartening.