Lucky #7

by Phyllis

I read a blog recently here, and I felt almost compelled to respond. Well, not respond, so much as I felt I had a story of my own to tell. And, oddly enough, it is about #7 as well. I, too, had to bid him a (not so) fond farewell. In a different way.

Like Koozown (my name for the author of that post), I lived in a town with a very popular orthodontist. Indeed, I cannot get past the feeling I know the town he is speaking of. Only this man never put braces on my teeth. I am relatively certain I needed them, but it never happened.

And I don't really know why. I am sure my parents were much like Koozown's: nice, middle-class folks living in a small town, probably had their share (or more) of children. I imagine they lived in a fairly large house with a big back yard, a pasture maybe, and perhaps a few farm animals. Just a guess.

But my parents decided not to get me braces. I watched all my brothers and sisters (all six, mind you) get braces--the complaining, the pain, the retainers, the replacement retainers for lost or broken ones, the retainers used to cut popsicles to pieces--and thought I hadn't missed out on much.

Except that in high school I started to notice something: I used to stick my finger in my mouth. Don't ask me why--I supposed it was just a nervous habit. A bad habit, maybe, but not the worst thing that could be done with a finger and a mouth. But I would place my left hand index finger directly behind my two front teeth. And if I turned it sideways I could just feel the edge of #7 and whatever number is on the other side of your front teeth on each side of my finger. Only as I got older, this gap was narrowing. I didn't have to turn my finger all the way sideways anymore. And then finally, not at all.

I had said farewell to #7. Or rather, he had said goodbye to me. But he is still in there, chilling out behind the front line, poking my tongue everyday. Look closely--he's back there.


So, yes, I pity Koozown; I don't want pain, pus, or a root canal with a limited warranty. But I have gone to dentists and requested that #7 be pulled, and no one will do it. They claim that sort of problem can be fixed (only at my age it would require oral surgery and breaking my jaw and palate--no, thank you), and I can assume from Koozown's experience there could be other issues down the road.

Indeed, for some of us, #7 has not been so lucky.