Just as I paid off the first child's braces journey, today was the day the second child, and my wallet starts the braces journey. I honestly there is no difference between a torture chamber master and an orthodontist. Seriously, I know the orthodontist tries to makes everything sound routine but he really does sound like a medieval torture
According to the Internet (we all know this is true) a torture chamber is a place where torture is inflicted. A Orthodontist office is a place where torture is inflicted. See?
Tell me the difference.
"So what we are going to do here is make a small opening in the roof of his mouth. Then we'll attach a chain to the tooth and slowly pull it out and down to an opening made with the braces."
"We're going to put you in this metal cage and hang you comfortably from the rafters of the castle."
I'm not sure which one sounds better. My son looked at me in horror as the Orthodontist showed us this really cool video of the chain pulling his tooth out. Luckily we had to pull three baby teeth and the tooth came in where is supposed to go! THANK GOD!
Now I'm entering the world of the second child. A different method:
"We're going to lay you here on the long wooden bed, attach these metal brackets to your ankles and wrists. Once everything is attached we are going to turn this wheel slowly stretching everything."
"We are putting this metal device in your mouth. This tiny key is inserted into the hole cranked once every other day, stretching the bone and letting is slowly fill in."
Where's the difference? Oh, the Orthodontist says all this with a great smile and gentle tone.
My second son and I watch the recommended video of the palate expander, he looks over to me. "I've heard of a lot kids getting through this, it's not going to be that bad."
Palate expander goes in, technician shows me how I turn the key. There's a tiny hole that no one can see in the middle, a small metal stick that no one can see either miraculously fits in that tiny hole, you turn the key one turn then you're done for the day!
It's my turn, I'm thinking (turn the wheel here, stretch them a little further) I look in the mouth and can't even see the hole for the key. I thought there would be a REAL key! The key is a small metal stick, luckily attached to a bright blue pole for idiots like me that can't see a thing. I put on my glasses and look in there again, ah there's the hole. I'm trying to stick the key in the hole, until I put the flashlight on my phone and find it.
"There! I've turned it."
"You turn it the other way, not clockwise, bring it down toward the back of his mouth." She says.
I look in there again, and after some real awkward movements, I've turned the key!
"Good luck," she says as we leave the office.
At home, we set our alarms for when to turn the key as I keep telling myself, "This is only three months. I can do this for three months. Everyone else survived it."
Day one of the key comes. Son comes up to remind and my first thought is, "Oh shit, where did I put the key?"
He lies on the couch as I stab his tongue twice locating the hole again. Two more side stabs until I get the key in the hole, we're both sweating. Finally with one turn, we are done for the rest of the day!
"That wasn't so bad?" I say picturing the Rack from my search of torture devices.
47 left to go.
Can't wait to see what's next.
Where is that damn key?