My dentist had the audacity to retire last year. When I tried to argue that he wasn't old enough to retire, he reminded me I'd been going to his practice for 25 years and, in that time, he had moved on from being a newly-married youngster to being a grandad several times over. He promised me moving on to a new dentist would be a seamless transition.
In fact, the new dentist even has the same name as the old one: Stuart. He's a Norn Irn boy, which inspires confidence. He takes the same approach as the other Stuart: preserving what life is left in these teeth of mine. He's very diplomatic: when I asked him about the 25-year-old veneers on my front teeth, he said 'Yes, they are opaque.' I wasn't sure what that meant so I just let it go. They're still there. Still opaque, but there.
This week, during my 6-monthly check-up, Stuart told me that one of my 'big back teeth' is showing signs of decay but in such an awkward place that he's not keen to tackle it. I don't like the word decay. Plenty of parts of my body are showing signs of decay but I had hoped my teeth were hanging in there. I said: 'So what do we do then?' From somewhere above my head, Stuart said 'We'll keep an eye on it.' I was not reassured. 'What are we waiting for? To see if I die before anything has to be done?' He had the decency to laugh. But all he said was 'Don't worry - it won't come to that.'
I can only hope he's right. Between the veneers and the big back tooth, we're talking big money. Stuart No 1 didn't bother too much about money. When the front fell off one of my teeth, he put it through as emergency treatment. Cheap as chips. But I get the impression things have moved on these days. When I got a filling replaced recently by Stuart No 2, it cost a lot more than chips.
Still, what's a gal to do? Curl up and die or smile into the mirror and tell myself: You're worth it!
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