18 November 1995
Goodbye Brace Face", "Train Tracks", "Metal Mouth."
Today I was to make my last visit to orthodontist Chris Robertson's office. It was the day I would finally have my braces removed.
Thirteen years old and in my first year at St Hilda's Collegiate School, I already had a long history of dental procedures:
Starting at primary school, I was given a night brace to fix an overbite.
It was an awful contraption. My hair always got stuck in it and I would have to untangle it in the morning.
Then there was an operation to rescue a wayward eye tooth that had found its way high up in the roof of my mouth under my nose.
And a plate with rubber bands that would ping off when I least expected it.
My wisdom teeth were removed at the age of 11.
Then braces for nearly two years to straighten my teeth and remove a large gap between my two front teeth that earned me nicknames from my sisters, such as "Bugs Bunny".
On top of all of that, there were many appointments to tighten the braces, which ended up making my teeth feel sore and wobbly, X-rays, moulds, poking, prodding and checkups.
Not to mention the food that was almost impossible to eat with braces. Eating an apple was a no-no without cutting it up in to small pieces and chewing gum was absolutely out of the question.
I woke up that day so excited.
Not only was I getting time off school but it was time to reveal my new teeth, which had been covered up for so long.
Sitting in the orthodontist's chair, I rejoiced as one by one each tooth was freed.
Running my tongue over my teeth for the first time in months felt amazing. They were smooth and sleek and had never felt so good.
Finally, it was time to look in the mirror and be reintroduced to my teeth.
As a 13-year-old, I thought life couldn't get much better and that this was the best day of my life.
Victoria Muir is a Dunedin event manager.
