“Alright, open wide.”
The familiar dread fills me as I try—honestly, sincerely, desperately try—to open my mouth wide, as they say.
I open.
“Wide as you can.”
No go.
“Okay, really open up this time.”
I’M DOING THE BEST I CAN.
The above exchange happened recently at Urgent Care, when my mantra of “it’s just a cold!” fell apart at the feet of full-blown strep. I didn’t even have to open my mouth the appropriate amount before the doctor whipped out his prescription pad. Apparently the inability to talk and swallow are not cold symptoms. Who knew?
This mouth issue, though, has come up more than I care to admit. Every dentist appointment, obviously. And going to the orthodontist was a whole new ball game. “Okay, sweetie, we’re just going to make a mold of your teeth, this will only take a second. Open wide. Wider. Big as you can, sweetie. Um, well, hmm, okay, I’m going to have to go get the mold we use for the little kids, I’ll be right back. Okay, now I really need you to AS WIDE AS YOU CAN, don’t think about the pain, we WILL get through this, but imma need you to work with me. So this is how it’s going to be, huh? Well then, excuse me. Looks like somebody here wants to have buck teeth accented by fangs for the rest of her life!”
My dad likes to talk about how tiny my face was when I was born. According to him, my nose and mouth were so little that he was worried I wouldn’t be able to breathe with such small passageways. While my nose and other facial features grew at the expected rate, it seems that my mouth did not.
It has even worked its way into my eating habits. That sandwich is the best on the menu, you say? The one with a lot of things on it, yeah? Okay I’ll pass. Turns out it doesn’t taste as good when all you can get in the first five bites is bun. Oh, you saved the last bite for me? Like, you think that’s the very last one? Because that looks like a SOLID three bites to me.
As a kid at the orthodontist, such a scenario is painful, but I’m sure it wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary for those in the orthodontic profession. Sure, I was born with small features—I was a BABY. Totally acceptable. But now I’m twenty-three years old. An adult. Like, actually (kind of). I should be free to order any sized sandwich without concern. I should be able to visit Urgent Care without multiple requests to do a very simple task. I shouldn’t visit an alligator farm and be jealous of the reptiles’ jaw size. Yet, here we are.
Little Mouth, Big World.
Catherine Kramer (’14) has a degree in English and works in publishing. Her continued existence is made possible by grace, warm hugs, and iced chai lattes.
