Against My Better Judgment: I Let My Dentist Talk Me Into Invisalign at 50

Against my better judgment, I got Invisalign at 50. I was reminded of this decision last Tuesday when my coworkers brought baked goods to a meeting. Carbohydrates are my weakness, and the taste of fresh baked sourdough bread and donuts would certainly get this meeting off to a great start. I then remembered the two pieces of plastic gripping tightly to my teeth. I remembered how difficult these pieces of plastic were to remove and how awkward it would be to stick my hands in my mouth to remove said pieces of plastic in a conference room filled with coworkers.

At this moment in my life, I came face to face with the consequences of my action. I am 50 years old, now have Invisalign, and would have to pass on the baked goods. “I can’t,” I sheepishly said, I have Invisalign in my mouth. At this very moment, I silently cursed my dentist, who is supposed to be a friend, to hell.

You see, dear friend, I have never wanted the pleasure of experiencing orthodontia. I always thought my teeth were fine. While they were not perfect, they have gotten me this far. Hell, my wife even married me in spite of my dental imperfections.

My dentist, on the other hand, had a different opinion. From the moment he set foot in dental school he has told me he thinks I should get braces. Every six months for the past decade or so, he has said something to me to the effect of, “ bro, I can totally hook you up with Invisalign. . . .” I resisted for years, until one day I was in the dental chair, and he said the words that I couldn’t resist.

I’m sure the pitch was more artful than this, but this is essentially what I heard. “Have you thought any more about Invisalign? If you don’t do something, your teeth are eventually going to fall out of your mouth because they are so crowded and getting worse.” My friend was cunning. He knew that applying to any sense of vanity I might have wouldn’t work, so he found a medical necessity to appeal to. It sounded horrible, but I still had to talk it over with Mrs. Judgment to get the green light. “Let me give it some thought,” I replied. Then he said those magic words, “I’ll do it at cost.”

You see, dear friend, both my dentist-friend and myself were raised Mormon. Although I left the church years ago, there are certain principles that remain with you. There is an old joke that illustrates this point perfectly: A Mormon goes to Las Vegas with the 10 Commandments and a $20 bill and breaks neither. I will spend money, but I’m even more willing to do so if I know I’m getting a deal. He knew this, so he put the nail in the coffin. Against my better judgment I said, in my best Tone Loc voice, “let’s do it.”

I did not realize what I had gotten myself into until installation day. After the dental assistants glued what seemed like little rocks on my teeth, my dentist friend came in and used some sort of grinder to create space between a few of my crowded teeth. The smell of burning tooth material is one I hope to never experience again.

I fully realized the torture this would be when, for the first time, I decided NOT to eat something because of the hassle it would be to take the trays out of my mouth to chew it. You see, dear friend, I sometimes enjoy a cannabis gummy to help myself relax and fall asleep. I thought one might help this night due to the pain I felt in my teeth. After going through the process of taking out the trays, eating, flossing for the fifth time, brushing, and finding the exact location where the trays fit, I decided it was better to sleep poorly.

I expressed my frustration to Mrs. Judgment, who empathetically said, “that sounds like what I experienced when I had braces,” something I never knew about her. I just assumed her teeth were naturally perfect like the rest of her. I also tried to open a conversation with the dentist by mentioning the bill from his office was wrong. He didn’t ask how it was going at all, instead complaining about his support staff.

The first week has gone ok. It seems like everyone takes a second look at my glossy teeth but is too polite to say anything. The first three days hurt the most as everyone warned. Tylenol has been my friend. I have spilled water on my shirt a few times attempting to navigate drinking water with the trays in my mouth. My dogs seem interested in chewing on the trays when I take them out, but nobody in the family seems too concerned about the plastic mouthpieces sitting on a paper towel. My favorite part of the day at the moment is the hour I allow myself every morning to enjoy my coffee and green shake without the torture of wearing my trays.

Between spilling water on my shirt and negotiating with my dogs over my trays, I have had time to consider the deeper implications of this situation. I am considering whether or not it is a mistake to have a friend as a medical provider. He knows too much about me. He knows my weaknesses, and he knows how to exploit them. However, the true benefit of having a friend as a medical provider is trust. I know that my dentist-friend will not recommend anything unless it is truly needed. And that reassurance is priceless.

So next time I go to the office and face a pile of baked goods again, I will do so with my head held high with a confident smile. It’s only been a week and I have months to go, but I have been through worse things than digging in my mouth to remove plastic guards. As I enter the “senior” phase of my life, I will have straight teeth and a happy dentist, who cares about straight teeth more than I do, but who also has my best interest at heart. Against my better judgment I said yes. Against my better judgment I will see it through. Dear friend, I'll keep you posted.