Dear LPG readers,

A combination of three things inspired me to write this story. I read a recent article on your pages about a toothache and what happened to one of the people mentioned, along with differing versions of something that both my youngest grandchild and I experienced on the very day I read it. It's got me thinking about another aspect of what goes on in the average British mouth. 

I was lucky enough to find a dentist when I experienced my most recent attack of oral pain. The answer was an extraction, which is never pleasant, but, having been there and having experienced the loss, my next destination was my grandson’s school. I usually collect him, and while the pain that was always going to replace the numbness which the anaesthetic provided set in, I found myself waiting at the school gates.

I hoped he would be able to take my mind off my somewhat disturbing day with his usual talk of what had happened during his school day, but on this occasion, he met me with an outstretched hand. When he opened it, the contents would not have been so disturbing on any other day. He revealed one of his teeth and described a day which had played out a little much like mine, although nature had served as his dentist. 

While his description of the actual moment of disconnection went into an extent of detail I would rather have heard on any other day, my own similar experience was still replaying in two separate parts of my head: mentally in my brain and physically in my jaw. 

The difference was that, while he then went on to envisage a positive side of the experience (the tooth fairy was bound to pay him a call), I was working on perfecting a smile that I could deliver while disguising the temporary gap and wondering just how much it was going to cost to have another tooth added to my denture. 

That evening, during my private encounter with my bathroom mirror, the experience left me with my toothbrush in one hand, my dentures in the other, and the tip of my tongue taking a tour of my upper and lower jaws. At the same time, I counted just how many real teeth I still have in my head, followed by a trip to Google, where I learned a couple of interesting facts that lifted my level of dental depression somewhat.

Did you know that the average British adult has their first denture fitted at 43, while the average British 70-year-old has about 19 of their own left to boast about? Armed with that nugget of information, I am happy to report that, for my age, I have a few more pearly whites than the average number left in my head and did not need any dental prosthetics until at least 10 years later than average, according to the statistics I found. 

When I reflected on the day and my grandson’s sense of achievement, rather than my sense of loss, the statistics did make me feel a little better. 

 Please note that I am not in competition with my grandson, but life can sometimes play some ironically emotional tricks on us … 

MI, Sydenham.
 

MI shares the dental statistics that lifted her spirits…

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