Childhood: Defanged by Misadventure

Taking a poor call

That evening my mobile phone rang and no caller identification was shown apart from the nondescript Unknown. The time of the day allowed for me to take the call but I heard nothing from the other end as my patience began to wane with each subsequent “Hello”

In typical Akin fashion, I rang off the call with, “If you are not ready to talk, I am breaking off this call.” A few minutes later, the phone rang again and I noticed that the indicator bars for signal strength are low signifying a possible poor connection, I was prepared to be a bit more patient and I finally got to hear who was calling and I rang off promising to call back when I return home in about 30 minutes.

My friend was curious about the calls and I said, she is the reason my dentition is the way it is. Without the backstory he immediately jumped to the conclusion that a girl had knocked out my teeth with all the connotations it entails.

I failed to get a word in edgeways as to the how and the why, I knew he would eventually find out and I should expect a call the moment he reads this blog.

The wheelbarrow tyre fell off

It was an evening of horseplay and pranks as we played in the corridor that linked our bedroom to the bathroom, a door to the left lead to the dining room and further up to the right was the door to my father’s bedroom, at the end of the corridor; straight ahead was the toilet, to the right was the door to my auntie’s bedroom and to the left was the bathroom.

We started at the end closest to our bedroom, my hands on the floor, she lifted up my legs in was to be a wheelbarrow walk, I had probably just moved my hands like leg strides twice when my arms appeared to give maybe because I was not keeping up with the speed of being pushed.

So, I fell forward, my front teeth hitting the floor and the damage was two pieces of enamel that could no more be put together again like a Humpty-Dumpty mishap. It was painful, I cried but there was nothing that could be done to rectify the situation.

Had this happened 6 months before, I probably would have had the luxury of a shark, my milk teeth would have been shed for the permanent ones, I had no such luck and that was the beginning of my disfigurement.

Marked for life

Six months after the accident, I was in such great pain that I had to visit the dentist. In the 70s the drills were very much like spinning pneumatic hammers, I was marked for life as the pulp was replaced with cement fillings and they took on a light marroonish colour.

That was the way I looked and I should have let it be until I was cajoled into doing some major work on them when I got to England, the contraption lasted about 8 years and since then it has been a complete mess that would require major reconstructive surgery.

It really does not bother me even though it could be rather unsightly, but in the scheme of things between Hollywood Teeth and dealing with cancer, I know where my priorities are; I was just defanged by misadventure.