I am writing this during the hiatus which exists between two visits to the dentist, where the first is to have impressions taken of two teeth about to be removed and replaced by additions to a dental plate, and the second is to have the “bad” teeth removed and the dental plate fitted. The hiatus is only 28 hours long, assuming all goes to plan, but it’s four mealtimes I have to negotiate with a total of only 16 teeth, six at the top and ten at the bottom, left in my mouth, and two of the top ones, the two at the front so desired as Christmas presents by the sibilating Spike Jones and his City Slickers, are the duds to be removed tomorrow. And I have toothache, which, before the ibuprofen kicks in to dull it, feels as if I have been repeatedly punched in the mouth and the jaw, pain spreading from my upper lip across my cheekbone to just below my left ear. So I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself.
How did I end up like this? Why is it making me feel so anxious and miserable? And what does my experience tell me about the system of dental care in this country?
Some personal context: until about 15 years ago, round about the time I turned 50, I had had what I imagine was a relatively ordinary, average set of experiences of teeth and dentistry for a man born in the UK in the 1950s. My first teeth grew and fell out around the time most children’s did, I went dutifully to the school NHS dentist when I had to, acquiring a number of fillings along the way and only having one experience of extraction under general anaesthetic. My memories of having fillings are that the experience was sufficiently unpleasant to put me off going to visit a dentist from the age of about 13 until my early 20s, when an impacted wisdom tooth had to be removed surgically in a German dental hospital. (I was doing a degree in German at the time, on my study year abroad at the Universität Erlangen-Nürnberg and, yes, it was quite “safe.”) At some point in my late 20s I got into the habit of regularly visiting a dentist and, for most of the time, things went fairly well – a few fillings here and there, a couple of crowns, nothing to get excited about. The dentist’s practices I visited in the towns I lived in were all NHS, so the costs were relatively low. Then, at some point early in the new century the local dentist’s practice my family had been using for a number of years decided to withdraw from the NHS, saying that they would be able to give much better dental care, and a much wider range of new treatments by going entirely private. I wasn’t very happy about this but, because I had a dentist whom I completely trusted, and, to be honest, because I was earning a half-decent salary at the time, I went along with his recommendation to take out a dental insurance plan and carried on visiting the same practice as before, with the additional benefit of a visit to the dental hygienist once every three months rather than once every six.
As I entered my 50s things began to change a little. My dentist would inform me that my gums were receding, but “nothing to worry about, quite typical for a man your age…just keep up the good habits…blah, blah…flossing/mouthwash/interdental toothbrushes/electric toothbrushes…blah, blah.” I did, more or less, as I was told, but things ratcheted up a bit as the occasional visit uncovered a tooth becoming loose, leading to the need for an extraction, then another until the removal of a highly visible tooth (a canine, I believe) necessitated a small dental plate. This process was handled over a number of years very sensitively by my trusted dentist, no alarm bells rang, and I was not unduly worried. I continued my visits to the hygienist every three months, and she reported nothing untoward.
Then my dentist retired, to be replaced by a younger, much more brusque practitioner, who seemed to come from the pull-em-out-first, ask-questions-later school of dentistry. The deterioration of my gums seemed to be gathering pace, and three more extractions followed in the space of a year. Curiously, though, no mention was made, either by the dentist or his hygienist, that I needed specialist treatment or that anything beyond what I was already doing could be done to arrest the receding gum issue. Things went from bad to worse when he fitted me for a dental plate on the lower row of teeth. He removed what I thought was a healthy tooth to “help anchor the denture better,” but the plate, when fitted, was extremely uncomfortable, and became very painful to wear. My dentist’s response, after making a couple of minor adjustments which made little difference, was that I would get used to it. (I couldn’t, and stopped trying after a few weeks).
My next move was to change dentist. I had heard that there was an excellent practice in another part of town, and I was able to register with them. It was another private practice, but none of the other local practices were taking on NHS patients at the time, and my anxieties had increased to the point where I really needed a friend’s recommendation. It was this which led me to the private practice on the other side of town. At first I was very impressed. They gave me a thorough examination, took x-rays and photographs, and even sent me digital copies of these to keep for my own records. I had another prominent loose tooth, which needed removal, but this was done sensitively and replaced with a bridge, and the results looked good. The dentist did then say that the bridge was probably temporary, that he couldn’t guarantee how long it would last, and said that ultimately I would need implants there and elsewhere, which would fix my problems longer term. I should be prepared to budget “about eight grand,” he added. I told him I would “give it some thought.”
Then Covid happened, so I put all thoughts of visiting dentists to the back of my mind. When I did allow thoughts of dentistry to push themselves forward, I just felt very uncomfortable at the thought of having to find at least £8,000 for a treatment that hadn’t been recommended to me before. I had once asked my previous dentist about tooth implants, but he had said he didn’t think the bone structure above my top row was strong enough. Thinking about the two contradictory pieces of advice I had received merely added to my growing anxiety. It was easier to push it to the back of my mind and postpone any decision.
My gum/loose teeth problem persisted, however, and by the beginning of March this year I was experiencing discomfort around one of my wisdom teeth, which had begun to feel loose, with the result that food remnants would sometimes get lodged into the gap around the tooth, and inflammation and pain would flare up from time to time. I was really uncomfortable about going back to my “eight grand” dentist, but was worried that I would have no alternative. I was persuaded to make an attempt to see a different dentist as an NHS patient, just to deal with this problem. I wasn’t optimistic I’d succeed, but decided to give it a whirl anyway, and phoned the dental clinic at Nottingham University. I was in luck, and despite the backlog caused by pandemic-induced closures managed to get an emergency appointment. Another extraction was necessary, unfortunately, but it was all dealt with swiftly, efficiently, sensitively, and cheaply. I felt in good hands.
At the end of the session, my new dentist talked about the ongoing problem with my receding gums. She said she thought it would be a good idea to see a periodontist, who could examine and treat this gum disease, and would I like her to refer me to them? It was a private practice, she said, but it shouldn’t be too expensive (I had told her about my “eight grand” man). Feeling relieved to have received such good NHS care, I agreed.
Which brings me back to today, which was my second visit to the periodontist. On my first, x-rays and photographs were taken, my gums were examined, chronic gum disease diagnosed, and some urgent treatment proposed: my two front teeth were beyond rescue and needed removing; two new dentures would be added to the plate I am already using; and a “deep cleaning” treatment was required to arrest the advancing gum disease. I am to receive three treatments, under local anaesthetic, where harmful bacteria will be cleaned out from the roots of the teeth I have remaining. I’ve agreed to all this, though, again, it’s not going to be cheap. I also don’t know if it’s going to work. When I went for the impressions to be taken today for the new additions to my plate, my specialist said that the dentures may be a bit loose, they may not work all that well. But it’s the best solution we have. And the treatment has become much more urgently required, because one of those teeth has become extremely painful in the last few days, and the gums around it are swollen and also very sore.
I’m left feeling miserable and rather bewildered. Miserable because I have had so many teeth out in the past ten years, and have so few left. I’m generally pretty fit and well for my age, but this rapid tooth loss makes me feel properly old. I can’t even say that I’m getting a bit long in the tooth, given how few remain. Throughout this whole process I have felt under-informed and vulnerable. It’s difficult to negotiate with a mouth that is either sore from infection or numb from local anaesthetic, and in any case as a patient I feel I have spent most of my time lying prone with my mouth wide open.
I feel bewildered because the system of dental care which we have in this country is so lacking in transparency. There is a lot of public discussion about health care and the NHS. Its funding, its performance, its ownership are all topics for intense political debate, and its easy enough to come across information about the range of possible treatments, conventional or “holistic,” available inside or outside of the National Health Service. *Our* NHS has rightly been feted for its role in the front line of the fight against Covid. But how often is dentistry in the news? How much discussion is there about the functioning of our system of dental care, how aware are most people of what treatments are available, and how to access them? And what do you do if you can’t afford what is recommended?
And one last thought: I’m getting treatment now for chronic (ie long-term) gum disease. Why did neither of my previous, private, expensive dental practices not refer me to a specialist for this, or even suggest that this ”deep-cleaning” treatment was an option for me? How can dental patients even find out what options exist for them?
POSTSCRIPT: I returned to the Periodontist some 28 hours after the “impressions” session, feeling apprehensive about the pending removal of my two front teeth, and the fitting of almost-complete top dentures. The first surprise was that I was to have three, not two, teeth removed. One of my incisors, from which a cap, or crown had broken off a few years ago, but which had neither given me any trouble nor had been previously flagged up by any dentist as in urgent need of treatment, had also been designated as “dead” and in need of removal, too. “It’s in the plan,” insisted the dentist, as he gave me the first of what became five injections of local anaesthetic into my top gum. (Later inspection of the plan showed that it was indeed there, on a list “0701 Extraction – Simple UL4 £0.00” Given that the other two teeth were being removed at a cost of £117.60 each – how do they arrive at that figure? – and I have no recollection of that being explained to me, I hadn’t really absorbed that bit of information. Three for the price of two, lucky old me!) The removal of the front teeth was relatively straightforward, though the pain which had enveloped one of them was such that he had to stop to administer more local anaesthetic than initially planned, but the third one proved more complicated. The tooth broke, leaving some root inside my gum, which had to be opened up, under yet more local anaesthetic, so that the root could be drilled and scraped out. Very unpleasant, and also requiring what felt like a very complicated application of stitches to the wound. After an hour and ten minutes of lying almost flat on my back in the dentist’s chair I emerged, in a state of mild shock, and meekly handed my bank card to the receptionist who relieved my account of £470. And I have an almost full set of top dentures which, to be fair, don’t look too bad. I can’t yet comment on their efficacy, as my top gum is far too sore to attempt to consume anything more challenging than porridge or mashed potato. I’m now left with three wounds which I have to keep as clean and untouched as possible, a little knot of stitches, some unpleasant soreness at the junction between the top of my gum and the inside of my top lip, and only three “real” teeth of my own up there. More than anything, though I’m left with this awful, nagging question: did this all really need to play out the way it did?