Adventures in Pandemicland, Scene 3. The Twins
I remember now how I laughed when my brother first suggested it. Braces? At 25? Surely he had to be joking. We both needed them as children, both started with a removable plate, both decided we didn't want to graduate to fixed braces... I mean, that's the sort of thing near-identical twins did, right? It wouldn't be the done thing for one of us to have had braces and pearly white teeth and the other not. I say near identical because there were one or two things about us that were different, but unless you knew us both well and we happened to be standing next to each other, we thought that we were more or less identical. An inch on height here, a crooked eyebrow there, that sort of thing.
When you're an identical twin, it's hard not to do the same things. Even though we went to different universities and started out with different careers, there were still similarities. We both started working out. We both got a tattoo. We even both had the same haircut, even though we were going to different barbers. He joined the military, I just liked the look. When he came out, that's when he had the idea. Although I laughed to start with, it did seem to be the one part of us that wasn't quite right. We were working out, eating well, and then we smiled and the good work we were putting into our bodies came unstuck. I tried everything I could to get out of it, but nothing seemed to work. I tried age, he found some newspaper article about how adult braces were increasing. I cited cost, and our parents offered to pay, especially as the local office was doing a "buy one, get one half price" offer. I suggested our image, and my brother had an answer for that as well. Eventually, I agreed. After all, it was what identical twins did.
We started on the same day. Can you imagine the funny looks we got in the waiting room? Already having a good five years, if not ten, on most of the patients, we walked in and you got two of us, except to most people we were one. We both sat there, arms the size of most of these kids' legs, looking thoroughly menacing yet also totally out of place. It was almost a relief to be called in and have them start looking at our teeth.
It seemed our teeth weren't quite identical. Sure, they looked fairly similar to outsiders, but my crowding was caused by my wisdom teeth pushing my teeth forward, he didn't even have any wisdom teeth (a skeletal deficiency, it seems), yet his teeth had grown as though they did. For once, something different. Well, until they whipped them out, of course, which took place a few days later. I felt like I was in a daze as I was driven back home (by my brother, of course), with my mouth full of cotton wool and my head still in the clouds. One thing they had managed to find different about us, and it has been taken away. Surgically. Typical.
The braces soon went on. It wasn't as though we had much of a choice as to what they offered. The orthodontist we chose was a no-nonsense sort of guy, and it seemed he didn't go in for all those "clear aligners and ceramic braces and stuff". Now I understood why we looked so out of place, because teenagers get metalwork and adults go for something more aesthetically pleasing. We were going to get a tingrin, and that was final. Our treatment plans sounded decidedly boring. Metal brackets, elastics, couple of years, probably a bit longer than 2 as we were adults, and then retainers.
Being who we were, we decided we needed a way for people to tell us apart with our newfound hardware, so he opted for a teal-green sort of colour, and I had navy blue. It was my favourite colour, and I guess there is always a bit of inner teenager in all of us. Surprisingly, his green didn't look too bad - certainly not like as though he had forgotten to clean his teeth after eating. We didn't change it up very much, and by a few months in even the orthodontist's assistants didn't bother asking any more. Sean got blue, and Steve got green. Then they fitted us with elastics. The square box at the front, around our canines, was an absolute killer, but the two that stretched back from the canines to the lower molars were fine. Again, to make sure we didn't get confused, they were different colours. I decided I should just get on with it and had blue elastics, whilst Steve preferred the normal latex type. I wore mine pretty much as I should, despite the difficulties, and as far as I knew, I thought Steve was as well. His teeth seemed to be moving slower than mine, but I guessed that was because his molars didn't have extraction holes to slip into easily, or however it was braces worked.
A few months ago, we thought it would be funny, and confuse everyone, if we swapped over. We told the assistants straight away, and they agreed that it would be pretty cool. So, I left with green colours (but still with my blue elastics), and Steve left with blue colours (but still with his latex elastics). Everyone had a chortle, and learned that for that month, they had to tell us apart by the colour of our elastics, not by the colour of our ligatures. Deciding to carry on a theme, as our next appointment rolled around, we decided that we'd see how well the ortho staff remembered, and swap elastics as well. So I now had Steve's green ligatures and Steve's latex elastics, and vice-versa.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to begin with, and there was a low partition between the chairs, so you couldn't really see what was going on next door. Steve and I had no idea what the other was getting until we saw each other. The ortho came and checked us both, then called his assistants over. They came back and got to work. I noticed my appointment seemed to be taking longer than Steve's this time, as his assistant had already rolled back before I was done. Things felt weird. They took a bracket off, and then placed a different sort of part on my teeth. It was like the bands they'd used on our molars for anchorage. Well, I say a bracket, I should really say a bracket each side, but they managed to put the two replacements on at once. I guessed it was something like a friend had worn at school, a little arch across the top of my mouth to keep the molars the same width apart as they moved them around. Then there was something else, that he kept taking out and putting in. I couldn't really feel what it was. Eventually, though, they left it in.
The ortho came over and checked us both, and after telling Steve he was good to go with more of the same, he started telling me about the changes to my braces. He seemed concerned that my teeth weren't moving as they perhaps should, and considered that I had a tongue thrust, especially as I'd said I wore my elastics all the time. He'd there for fitted something called a tongue crib behind my front teeth to stop my tongue from pushing on them. To help the molars move back, he'd decided I needed the 'big daddy' of all appliances, headgear. At this point, Steve was laughing so much he was nearly crying at the thought of me having the most obvious orthodontic appliance going. I was just shocked, too shocked to realise what he was saying. I was wearing my elastics all the time, so maybe my tongue did press against my teeth. Maybe my teeth looked to have moved more, but they were somehow moving incorrectly. I was shocked, he was happy, and after the very embarrassing lesson in how to use headgear at the practice mirror, we drove home. Steve was still laughing his head off so much I thought I had better drive, and just threw the paperwork they gave me on the back seat. I didn't have any spare elastics now, as they thought the headgear for 16 hours a day would be enough to get used to. It was just me and headgear, and an inability to say my own name. "My name ith Thawn". Steve made me say it at least three times before I threatened to punch him. I couldn't say his either, Thethve, with also made him laugh.
My parents showed little inquisitive interest. As far as they were concerned, everything was necessary. If my teeth weren't moving and I needed headgear, so be it. It was only later that evening, when I finally started to look through the paperwork we were given, that I realised something wasn't right. I just got this feeling. In amongst the usual pre-printed leaflets there was a plain white envelope which seemed to contain a letter from the ortho. I opened the envelope and took the letter out. Immediately I realised what it was. "THETHVE!" He came rushing in, laughing at my lisp, still. I handed the letter to him. "You were thuposthed to geth this, not me!" It was quite clearly there in black and white. "Dear Steve."
There was nothing we could do that evening, so I just had to deal with it as best I could and phone them the next day. That was a Saturday, so it was their emergency line only. The ortho himself answered, and when I explained the situation, you could have heard a pin drop. Neither he nor the assistants had used our names. He hadn't said Steve or Sean at any point. Indeed, his first question was "but you had green braces... and latex elastics... and..." He asked me to hold, and then got our records. Sure enough, there it was, the fact that we'd swapped colours last time. "But... the elastics..." I laboriously explained that for a joke, we'd swapped. It seemed like the joke was on us now. He apologised profusely, but said he couldn't see me today, or indeed on Monday, as he was fully booked. He could see me first thing Tuesday morning, and he'd take out the tongue crib. My elastics were working really well. I wasn't too happy about having an extra 72 hours in it, but needs must, I suppose. He apologised again, and I counted down the hours until Tuesday. Somehow, even though he knew he might be for it next time, Steve still found it funny. So much so, our parents had to tell him to act his age more than once over the course of the weekend.
Except Tuesday never came. It did, of course, the world didn't end, but it didn't come with an orthodontist's appointment. On Monday night, we entered 'lockdown'. "The virus", which had been slowly spreading around the world, had case numbers that were doubling almost by the day. All non-essential businesses had to close, people had to work from home, all sorts of things were restricted. I started to get very nervous indeed.
I rang the orthodontist first thing the following morning. He confirmed my worst fears. As well as numerous braces going on, braces coming off, and other adjustments that really needed to be made, he couldn't see me to take off the tongue crib. I could remove the headgear, of course, but I only had a few days worth of elastics left, and I'd still be left with the tongue crib. He thought for a moment, and ultimately came to the conclusion it would be better for me to wear it. The tongue crib wouldn't do any harm to my teeth, just make my tongue uncomfortable. The headgear... that could be more problematic, but not terribly so. If I didn't wear it 24/7 or anything like that, and checked in once a month with a video call once they had worked out how to do that (and bought the kit, given the entire world was now trying to buy webcams and fancy software), they could do their best to make sure I didn't end up "over correcting", whatever that was (although I could guess). Of course, Steve found this funny.
I haven't over-corrected yet, and I have to say, there is part of me that will miss the headgear when we eventually get back to have an appointment. The tongue crib I would happily remove myself if I knew how, and when it comes off I have an unceasing desire to crush it beneath my feet so it can never see the light of day again. But the headgear? My headgear? Maybe I might just ask if it would help if I kept it a little longer... after all... once Steve gets his fitted we'll have to look the same, won't we?
This pretty much came out of my head in one go after a stroke of inspiration earlier today. Strictly speaking, some of the orthodontia might not match the diagnosis, and there is questionable record-keeping on the part of the orthodontist, but hopefully this doesn't detract too much!