When the dentist informed our daughter her teeth would need straightening, we braced for impact.
She hated the idea. We had long, long talks before her braces were fitted, where I explained why it was necessary and how she’d get used to it. It didn't seem to soften her resistance. And of course, we suspected from the start that the obsessional nature of our daughter’s Prader-Willi Syndrome would make the process more difficult.
We were right. Three days after her top brace was fitted, she completely dismantled the metalwork during the night, and I ended up taking her to A & E* (*see previous entry Scrap).
But after this Gonzo Audition For Scrapwork Challenge kind of start, things calmed down. She accepted the fitting of a bottom brace, the installation of slightly different style braces at later appointments, and even the joys of elastic bands at night during the final couple of months of treatment.
And this week, after only nine months instead of the expected year, her teeth were freed. They were let off for good behaviour. The scaffolding came off, and the previously higgledy piggledy gnashers were revealed: neat, tidy, and straight, having paid their debt to society for their previous waywardness.
“I liked my braces, Mum,” my girl said to me. The one who’d initially said: “No thank you, I’m not interested,” when the dentist first mentioned the plan. The girl who’d ripped out the Mark 1 model. The one who hated her food getting stuck in between the metalwork.
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