My boy

My darling son has crooked teeth. It runs in the family. I do not know of a single relative who escaped the joys of orthodonture. On his last visit to the dentist, the hygienist strongly suggested it was time to take the boy to see the braces man. So I did. We went to see the one who straightened my darling daughter's teeth. He works 80 miles from here in Nevada, but I do not like the one who works 10 miles from here, and there are few other options in our small town. Visits to the orthodontist give us an excuse to visit the big city.

This particular practice believes in knowing what they are working with, so they did a panorama x-ray at the free consultation visit. This time it was digital, so I could see it on the computer as it progressed. Fun stuff. The odd mark on the page between the roots of the two front teeth in his upper jaw was too. The doctor had not seen too many like it. He said it had to go before the front teeth were pushed farther out of place in the already crowded mouth. He gave us a referral to a Maxillofacial doctor in the same city. I immediately called that doctor and found out that they do not take our insurance. Those are expensive words. I called our dentist and acquired the names of several dentists in another city in California. The first one I called not only takes our insurance, but is a premier provider. These are inexpensive words. I made an appointment for a consultation.

That appointment was last Friday at 9:30. We were in the car by 7:00. Did I mention that the doctor was 125 miles from home. Our small town does not have many choices, especially in medicine. We packed our bicycles for a ride along the river after the appointment. After looking into the mouth and taking another picture from another angle, the good doctor pronounced the procedure both simple and routine. We went to check out and set up a time and day for the surgery. I suggested in passing that not travelling another 250 miles and doing it today was my favorite option. After consulting with the doctor, we were told to come back in a half hour. My darling son asked if we would still have time for a ride. I told him it would be fine if he felt like it. Being the good mother that I am, I took the boy to In 'n' Out Burger for reinforcement. I even stopped by Target and bought a toothbrush and toothpaste to make the job easier on the doctor.

We returned to the office for the procedure. I will spare you the details except to say that one stitch was applied at the end. This becomes important later. It was a hot day, and one of us was not feeling like a bike ride anymore. We did go to our starting point to see the sights, which are well worth visiting. The mouth doctor said to take it easy. He did not say what the orthopedic doctor said while a broken arm was healing, which was, " No hanging." This behavior must have been acceptable then.

We had a nice walk across the bridge and back, and picked up a shake for the drive home to fill the requisite "all the ice cream you can eat" that follows oral surgery. About a half hour out, he said in a panicked voice that something was wrong with his stitch. I stopped at a rest area, and he had a nice visit with the mirror to see that everything was fine. A couple of hours later, eight miles from home, he said his stitch had come out. No way, you say, well you just do not know my talented boy.

He seems to be no worse for the wear, and yes, he had worked on the stitch with his tongue long enough for it come untied, and then he pulled it out with his fingers. I refused to drive back for another one. The doctor suggested having a local dentist take a gander at it, to be certain it was holding together, but at 5:00 on a Friday, none of the dentists in town had been in the office for at least 24 hours. Small town life is fun.