I've been known to say before that sometimes, stories just "fall out of my head". I saw a picture, I had an idea, I ran with it. There might be more, there might not be... not sure I ever truly finish a story. Comments welcome, if you feel it's worth commenting on, but I won't hold it against anyone if they don't.
As a reminder, permission to include this story (or any of my stories) in "The Archive" is expressly denied.
I.
"Now that last baby tooth has gone, I would recommend Brody see an orthodontist."
Words to send a shudder down my spine if ever there were any. In this day and age, and for about the last two decades, you might be surprised that I was worried about getting braces - after all, doesn't every other kid have them at one point or another? If we lived anywhere "normal", you'd be quite right. But braces here are... different.
When my regular dentist said to see "an orthodontist", she knew very well which orthodontist it would end up being. We're not exactly "rural", but it's not a big city either, but somehow, for some reason, we're a bit light on "corrective dental services". If you've got time on your hands, you drive 80 minutes in each direction to our nearest big city, and one of the orthodontists there... but let's be honest, who really has three hours once a month for teeth? In a neighbouring smaller town an ortho rents space in a dental office once a week, but she has a "one in, one out" policy, and as such, her waiting list is over a year long. Not so bad if you're 13 or 14, but somewhat unwelcome if you're 17 and about to be a senior in high school. And then there's Dr McCabe.
Dr McCabe is.. different.
OK, he's not an raving axe murderer or something our of the nutty professor, but he isn't exactly the warm, fuzzy, patient-needs-come-first type either. It seems as though everything about him is from a past era in one way or another, and you could almost be fooled into thinking he just doesn't like people, and especially under-18s, full stop. The stories are many and varied, and I don't know how many are true and how many have been embellished over time, but to state just a few I've heard from friends, he told the parents of one girl whose teeth were more or less fine, but the girl in question wanted some cosmetic changes, that they were "wasting his time" and that braces were for "people who actually need them". Apparently he refuses point blank to see anyone under high school age, and any parents who waft bits of paper or their phones under his nose with some internet webpage suggesting children should see an orthodontist aged 7 or whatever it is get sent on their way with the suggestion that "when Dr Google opens an office, I suggest you take your child there, then". There are stories that he fits braces directly before birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas and graduations, and if you get them off before you go to college, then the angels really are on your side.
As far as he is concerned, attending his office generally means you are going to be his patient. If you really wanted a second opinion, then you'd go somewhere else first. That you're attending his office means you've already discounted someone who is going to be more patient-centred, mild-mannered and just generally a nice person. That isn't to say he's rude or offensive or anything like that, just that he doesn't have time for flim flam and prevarication. Contract first, records appointment second (not that I knew it was called that at the time). By now, you probably won't be surprised to note that he doesn't rate ceramic brackets, thinks Invisalign is one step short of criminality and that fully banded braces and headgear are still reasonable appliances to use. Not that the patient gets any say, of course: he likes to talk about the patient to the patient's parents. Apparently, you get used to it.
Like I said.. Dr McCabe is... different.
His office is an almost pure rectangular building, with no specific reception area and no waiting room. There's a small porch to wipe your feet and leave your umbrellas, then you go straight into the treatment room. There's a desk on the way in, and you're directed, almost like a military bootcamp barber shop, to take a seat behind whichever treatment chair the receptionist expects to be free next. There is one chair, which is usually taken by the parent, and the patient, male or female, is generally expected to stand. That's fine if the wait is just a few minutes, but a little uncomfortable if the receptionist chooses incorrectly, or an unexpected adjustment is needed, and you're standing there for half an hour. No additional seat is ever provided. When you're called forward, patient takes the dental chair, and the parent takes the "chairside chair". Note that the chairside parent chair is never moved to the waiting chair so the patient can sit down: "This is not a furniture warehouse!". Behind the row of treatment chairs are the ancillary facilities. There's a washroom behind the reception desk, then a records room, a side-room for the X-rays, a blank wall area for photos to be taken against, and then in the corner, furthest away from the door, it the mirror and the area you learn about your new braces. With a chair or two in case they can bundle two poor unfortunate newly-braced souls together. There must be some staff facilities somewhere, perhaps off the records room, but I've never worked out where they are. Frankly, knowing Dr McCabe, it wouldn't surprise me if they didn't exist... he's not the sort of orthodontist who seems to expect his staff to need a break. You won't need me to tell you that "outside" food and drink are basically banned for patients, except for plain water on hot days, which may or may not come from the solitary water cooler by reception. As a final ignominy, if you need X-rays, you can walk behind the chair, because you're "in treatment". For anything else, including new braces guidance, you have to walk "wait side". All the way down past the waiting patients and their parents to the end of the room, then all the way back when you're done. Fine if you've just got braces, not so fine if you've just got headgear.
Once again, Dr McCabe is...
II.
Naturally, my parents chose Dr McCabe. I'd like to say there was a discussion about it, but that would be stretching the truth. My parents told me that I was going to see Dr McCabe, and I said yes... or rather I didn't say no, which in their eyes, was good enough. This wasn't the 1960s, My parents weren't horrendously strict - if anything, they were quite permissive. But this 'discussion' was one of those that you'd rank up there with "we are going to X place on holiday this year", or "If you fail a school assignment we'll take your X-box away". When the "thou shalt do as thou is told" tone came out, it wasn't worth the hassle of arguing.
I went with my mother. I was allowed to argue that point, but only out of teenage pride rather than actually expecting to win. It was my first appointment - even the over 18s tended to have a parent with them whilst they scoped out how many of the stories about Dr McCabe were true. Plus, they needed someone to pay the bill. They made the appointment, the basic paperwork was e-mailed over, printed, signed and sent back. The only way I'd escape his evil clutches and whatever appliances he had lined up for me would be to not need braces. Or run away from home, but that was a bit extreme. Plus, my teeth were not my finest feature. Tall, well-built, slightly handsome (if I say so myself)... and then I smile my crooked, overjetted, slightly crossbitten smile. I needed braces. I somewhat wanted braces. I just wasn't entirely sure I wanted McCabe braces.
Thankfully, for my first appointment, my mother had booked it during school hours, when the office was slightly quieter. Not only that, with a partial sense of what I was about to face, she'd even asked me what my least favourite lesson was, and then when she decided I needed to go to that class because my last grade wasn't very good, my second-least favourite. Goodbye double maths, hello Dr McCabe.
He was... perfunctory. I just had to lie back, open wide and do as I was told, whilst he looked at my teeth. If I didn't open wide enough, he barked at me to open wider. If I wasn't looking at the angle he wanted, he just used a finger or fingers to push my head around. I was, for all intents and purposes, being manipulated like a puppet without strings. He declared I'd need impressions, photos and X-rays, and then he'd send my parents an appointment for fitting in a week or so. He'd need to look at the full records to finalise his plans, but I should expect "full braces" with "extra-oral traction" for "36-42 months", with retention to follow. My case was "somewhat complex" with a need for "some parental intervention" likely. I didn't like his choice of "intervention" rather than something like, say "support". That sounded to me awfully like I was going to need something additional, something requiring movement or checking. I knew enough people with braces to be in no doubt extra-oral traction meant headgear. Braces might not be on every other kid, but they weren't exactly rare. There was a reason "McCabe Horror" was a genre all of its own when it came to Halloween stories. I immediately had visions of me in full bands and headgear. It would take some getting used to, but I was sure I could handle it. Rather than "no headgear", I was mouthing "no headgear to school".
D-Day came a week later. This time, I was not so much in luck. Dr McCabe had told my parents that it wouldn't be a "full" fitting, so I could come in after school. The downside was that meant the office was much busier, and my first experiences as a metalmouth would be in front of people. I had no idea what i was getting. I'm not entirely sure my mother knew what I was getting, but she had been "told" she needed to be there, or at least to pick me up. Not that she thought I'd do a runner, but if she was going to have to leave work early to pick me up, she'd leave work early enough to collect me from school, and take me, too.
"Brody Carter, here for a fitting?"
"Ah yes. Chair 2, please, Brody."
Chair 2. Not quite the one nearest the door, but next to that. Six other chairs disappeared off into the distance, even if I got the feeling he didn't always use all of them. Mom took her place on the waiting chair, and I stood next to her, awkwardly awaiting my fate. Just my luck, the person in chair 2 needed an unexpected adjustment: they'd broken a bracket. That required much tutting and a lecture from Dr McCabe, along with the threat to band it if he broke it again. The sight of a rather pleasant looking girl in chair 3 getting aregular adjustment did not draw my attention away for long enough to miss the entirely of the re-bracketing taking place in front of me, as my legs began to tire after 20 minutes of standing. I recognised another guy from school who hurried past, keeping his lips firmly closed over the braces I was well aware were there, nodding in recognition but trying not to say anything that would detain him in this place a moment longer than necessary.
Eventually, I was called. But that was to take my place, not to actually get whatever it was they were fitting me. An assistant came over and lowered the chair, then forced some bits of rubber between some of my upper and lower teeth. Not the ones right at the back I noticed, but not all of them either. I guess that was the "partial" fitting they spoke of. I sat there for thirty minutes, with nothing to do other than look at those walking past me. My mother had bought a book, and her phone, so she could flit between the two, still answering e-mails, without a problem. I just had to stare into space, seeing the many and varied mouths that passed me as I did so. Eventually, my time came.
The appliance they fitted me with was... weird. As expected, I didn't get a full set of bands. The appliance itself was a sort of expander, but not one of those that looks like a big spider and you have to turn it with a key. This looked more basic than that, with the four arms stretching down to bands around my teeth, and a disc of some sort just resting on my palate. The arms each had a number of upward-pointing hooks, a bit like a ratchet, and when I was eventually shown what it looked like, I was a bit worried for my tongue. There were two more arms pointing forwards, towards my front teeth, with just a single hook at the end. On my lower teeth, they fitted two bands to each side, a few teeth apart. I didn't notice at the time, but realised later they matched to where the top teeth had bands. These where just regular orthodontic bands. It all just felt a little... weird.
Dr McCabe didn't tell me what he'd fitted in my mouth, he told my mother. I just had to listen, and imagine what it looked like in my head, until I got shown on the other side of the room once the explanations were done. Dr McCabe explained that this was a new type of expander he'd been working with, and thought it would work better for me than the larger type with the key. The downside was, this relied on elastics working across my biteplane to get the expansion, and simply put, if I didn't wear them, it wouldn't work, and he'd have no choice but to use the more "rudimentary" devices. For the moment, I had to use two elastics, one on either side, in a box shape. They would stretch from the the two hooks on the lower outer side of my mouth, to the lowest hook of the ratchet" on the inside of the top of my mouth. I had to wear them all the time, except when eating or brushing. All. The. Time. If I wasn't at the meal table, over the sink, or moving between one and the other, I needed to have them in my mouth. My mother, and by extension father, were actively encouraged to check I was wearing them if it wasn't obvious. He asked if there were any questions. My mother answered for me, that I didn't have any. I was told to sit tight a moment longer as they'd fit spacers to my bottom teeth for the rest of my bands. I could then go and be shown how to install the elastics and look after the bands (I notice he only said install, not remove, as if to drop me any more hints), and make an appointment for the following week. My mother didn't need to come for that if she didn't want to, especially as I'd need weekly appointments until my appliances were completed. That didn't sound like it would be any time soon.
The appliances... sucked.
III.
My next appointment was also a school time appointment, but this time, it was one of my favourite subjects I had to miss. My mother decided to trust me to go alone, so at least I got to sit down whilst I waited... not that it made any difference, because I was shown to chair 5, which was empty. Over the course of an hour and a bit, the spacers came out from my bottom teeth, and each was replaced by a band. A big, wide, metallic band, covering about three-quarters of the width of my teeth, it seemed, before being connected by a wire, and then lots of smaller wires to tie it in. Quite literally, my wire was wired in. No rubber ligatures here: they were for people with brackets, and I did not have brackets. The colour of my mouth was going to be steel and latex. As if that wasn't enough for my poor mouth, one of my lower teeth was somewhat out of line, so the archwire had a small spring placed between it to push the teeth out of the way. Then, because I wouldn't be suffering enough, they added the spacers for the upper bands to be fitted the week later, and told me in no uncertain terms that the discomfort and pressure from the lower bands was not an excuse to stop wearing the elastics, and I had to keep them up. The first appliance had looked different, but now my braces were starting to become more visible in my mouth. In view of the need for the spring, the other two prongs from my upper appliance remained unused.
You might think my appliances were talk of the school, and yes, I did get some conversation, but we were all used to Dr McCabe's weird and wonderful appliances, and debated how many of them might be inventions of his. One kid, a sophomore, I think, had this weird monoblock type device that he had to wear to school. We looked up all sorts of activators and bionators and couldn't find it, so we concluded it might have been an invention. The kid hated it, but he knew he had to wear it, because he'd been threatened with one with integral headgear if he didn't. I felt a bit sorry for him, having to try and answer questions with it in, or spit it out discretely for longer answers or presentations, and was glad it wasn't me. Fully-banded appliances sucked, but at least my new lisp was manageable.
Week three's appointment was at lunchtime, not that I ate any lunch. Mom came, so I was relegated to standing again, thankfully only for a few minutes. The girl looked desperately embarrassed as the chair came up, and I knew they were brand new braces. She wasn't as lucky as I was, and had got the whole mouthful in one go. As I took my place, I realised her brother was in the next chair, only a little way behind. As I waited, I heard in full detail how their parents were to turn the key in bro's expander. It sounded awful, and I renewed my determination that those little elastics, annoying though they were, weren't going to defeat me. I did not want one of those anywhere near my mouth. I did some sums in my head and realised that not only was I not going to be done entirely during the lunch recess, my mother had every intention of taking me back to school for the last period.
Once again, they set to work on my mouth.
The spacers came out, and the bands went on. Then the archwire, then the lots of little wires that held it in place. I'm sure these hurt more than the lower teeth as they snipped the little wires off and poked them underneath the bracket so they wouldn't shred my mouth. Once again, the reminder to keep wearing the elastics at the side of my mouth. Still the spring (which was remarkably painful) on the bottom. Then it was time for those other hooks to get used. You'd think that having to chew on two elastics, in four strands, 23 hours a day would be enough, but no, Dr McCabe had other ideas. I was now to stretch a third elastic in similar fashion, from two hooks on my lower teeth, to the two hooks (not ratchet hooks, just on a long arm) behind my upper front teeth. These would essentially, so Dr McCabe deigned to tell my mother in my hearing, start to tip my lower teeth backwards. Because of my bite, they'd tended to tip forwards slightly, and they needed to be straightened up. I sighed, knowing that I had a new level of discomfort to come (and then sighed more when I realised how much it would affect my tongue when speaking - not as bad as monoblock kid, but still more noticeable than before), and started to get used to how they felt. I expected 24/7 wear time for these as well, but was surprised to hear my mother being told these were for daytime wear. So elated by that prospect, I completely failed to realise that if they were for daytime wear, worse would come for nights.
And worse it was.
Dr McCabe produced an arch of metal, with a plastic-bumper like thing in front of it, and two downward pointing hooks. It looked a bit like the inner arch of a facebow with the outer bits chopped off. He usually worked in silence, but explained to my mother what it was as he fitted it - once again, I found out by accident because I didn't have earphones in, rather than because he necessarily cared if I heard it first-hand, second-hand, or by opening my mouth when my parents instructed me to each evening. It was a lip bumper. It would slide into the tubes on the rearmost bands of my bottom teeth, then I'd attach an elastic from the hook to the rearmost hook on my upper teeth. I could obviously take the "day" elastic out to eat, but otherwise I had to wear it. I was to wear the lip bumper "overnight", but at least 10 hours (name me a teenager who sleeps 10 hours a night on a schoolnight?!), and if I spelt in at the weekend, it would be for the best. I should wear both until tomorrow morning, to "get used to them", but then alternate one and the other. Great. Both of them to school that afternoon. That was another of Dr McCabe's little things that made him... different. Just like the 'walk of shame' in the office, 'enforced socialisation' of new appliances by doing things like that. Someone told me he suggested their parents take them out for a meal the evening their headgear was fitted. "If your friends see you straight away, it reduces the stigma of having to wear the appliances around them at a later date". Yeah, right.
I had a mouth full of metal bands, wires, elastics and... stuff. My lisp had doubled in strength, and I knew I would be wearing most of this for graduation, let alone college. The crookedness of my upper teeth was even more visible now they were encased in a thick band of steel, and I felt incredibly self-conscious. But the damn lip bumper wouldn't let me close my lips together, and the only way I could get any comfort from the new bands was to let my lips rest naturally, slightly open, with the full "bandiwork" on show.
My last lesson was physics. Seeing the pained look on my face, the teacher decided my mouth would be the perfect excuse for a revision lesson on the various types of force, action and reaction, and all that jazz. After a quick look around my mouth and a few questions, I had to smile wide for a photo on his phone, which he then hooked up to the projector, and everyone got their lesson with my mouth on show. I just hid in the corner, hoping I could get home for a painkiller before my mouth really started to hurt. On the plus side, I did get a merit note for being "such a good sport"... as though I'd had any choice. On the plus-er side, nobody needed to ask me any questions about my new appliances because they'd seen them all already.
IV.
Week 4's appointment was slightly over a week, and fell on a Saturday, by Dr McCabe's special request. There was nothing about that fact that told me that was a good thing. Yes, he did perfectly normal appointments on Saturdays, but he also seemed to like to use those to introduce his most "socially unpopular" appliances. Monoblock boy got his appliance fitted on a Saturday. One of my friends got his headgear fitted on a Saturday. Someone else got his brackets swapped out for bands on a Saturday (because he tried to remove them with pliers at home in frustration). A friend's girlfriend got a tongue crib fitted the morning of Prom on a Saturday. With what was already going on in my mouth, to me, danger was spelled S A T U R D A Y.
Sadly... I was right.
Chair 1. Right by the door, which was fine for a quick exit if it was just a quick adjustment, but a long walk of shame if there was anything to show you. I had something to be shown. It was a mid-morning appointment, annoyingly early enough to have to get up before I'd like, but annoyingly late enough to block out the entire morning. My mother insisted that I have to wear both the day elastics and the night lip bumper, because Dr McCabe insisted on all appliances in the waiting room. Turns out he'd have been happy with just the day elastics, but that was just a small point in my favour, and he notably didn't tell me not to wear both the next time.
Once again, he explained to my mother, over my head, that in time, I'd need a "regular" headgear, which I took to mean a facebow with straps behind my head, but for now, I'd need a forward-pulling headgear, sometimes referred to as a facemask. This wouldn't really pull things too far forward, but would act on a few of my lower teeth, to move them slightly forward whilst the elastics slipped the lower teeth behind, and then hold them there whilst they checked how well my expansion was going. It was too early to say with just a few weeks, and my mother helpfully confirmed I was wearing the elastics all the time. I was, as well. Tempting though it was, I did not want one of those key-turn versions, so I sucked it up (physically and metaphorically) and wore them. I have the whiplash marks on my cheeks where one has broken to prove it. Once that phase was done, he'd swap me to the "regular" headgear which I'd have to wear for "some time".
He pointed, and then gently tugged at the small collection of half-inch long hairs that I jokingly called a beard, and told me that they needed to go. They would be "in the way" and "probably highly uncomfortable" whilst I wore the facemask. For a moment, I wondered if he'd produce a shaver and buzz them off there and then, but it seemed to be an instruction for home later. I knew my mother would send me to the bathroom the moment we set foot back in the door.
He was kind enough to hold the dastardly device up in front of my face so I could see it. A large metal frame, about the size of my face, had a large red oblong pad at the top, which I guessed was for my forehead, and a bowl or cup-shaped thing at the bottom, which I guessed was for my chin. Any sense I had of arguing over my "beard" disappeared. He lay me back, then deconstructed whatever parts of my mouth he needed to remove, which was mostly the lip bumper and the associated elastics, then got to work. He untied the wire from a few bands, and then dissolved the cement about the bands he'd only put on the week before. They popped off easily, and were replaced by a pair of bands connected by a metal wire which ran along just behind my front teeth, behind the elastic at the front of my mouth. They had long hooks on them, horizontally towards the front of my mouth. I don't know which teeth they are, but they slotted nicely between the original bands for the ratchet expander appliance thing.
He then placed the frame on my face, adjusted it to the right size, and after replacing the elastic in my mouth, hooked an elastic to the new long hooks and then out to the frame. It had a variety of hooks just in front of my mouth, and there was one elastic from my mouth to the outside hook on each side, leaving two unused hooks in the middle. I felt the light pressure on my face as it pulled backwards. I thought that would be enough, but as ever, I was wrong. To "make it easier for me", and "so I didn't have to worry about it slipping", he attached a strap to either side of the forehead pad piece, quite tightly, so it didn't move. I took a deep breath, waiting for the instructions. I hoped this would only be for nighttime wear.
He told me he realised having different wear times for different appliances would be difficult, but he was sure that I, as a 17-year-old high school senior, would be able to keep track effectively. I had to wear it for 106 hours a week, which in his mind, was 14 hours a day during the week, and 18 hours a day at the weekend. Or 15 hours and 9 minutes each day if I preferred. That was basically not school, but most other times. I spluttered something about sport, but he broke off from talking to my mother long enough to tell me my mother had already (truthfully) confirmed I wasn't a member of any sports team. I could go to the gym without issue, so that didn't count.
I lost the rest of the conversation as I considered the contents of my mouth. A band on every took, two wires, and the little wires. The ratchet expander with two elastics, which generated four strings across my bite plane. The other two hooks with one elastic, which generated strings five and six. The facemask, and the two elastics holding it on, and the lip bumper and the two elastics holding that. Unless I was eating, I had to have five elastics in my mouth at all times. Oh, and not forgetting that pesky little spring on the lower jaw, but at least the lip bumper protected my cheeks from it somewhat.
I came out of my trance just in time to hear Dr McCabe say that he'd see me again next week for a quick check everything was OK with the headgear, then the week after for my first proper adjustment. As if I hadn't been properly adjusted already with all this stuff. After that, thankfully, I could reduce my visits to every 3-4 weeks, but note that the 36-month estimate was based on three-weekly checks.
I learned what I had to do, and did my walk of shame. I couldn't look at anyone, and just looked at the wall in front of me, but I could sense people's eyes widening as I walked past. Robomouth was here to stay. What on earth was college going to be like?
Mom asked whether I'd like lunch. I just smiled weakly. Of course, I didn't want lunch. I didn't want to have to leave the house looking like this at all. But what I wanted wasn't going to change anything.
"OK".
We walked to the car in silence. I couldn't help but use the rear-view mirror to grab another look at my new appearance.
"You know, Dad and I are really proud of you."
I looked non-plussed.
"You've handled this really well. We haven't had to nag you about your elastics once. We're really proud of you."
"Thanks.
"It's going to be a long time yet, and it's not going to be... easy... but..."
"Thanks, mom".
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I pretended I had something in my eye.
