How Wisdom Teething Forced Me To My First UK Dental Appointment

Among the long list of clichéd stereotypes that any traveler brings with them on their first visit to the UK, the expectations of horrendous teeth seems to be the most prevalent.

From a quick google search online, I found some protestation to the effect that British teeth are not bad, only irregular by American standards, where “American middle class children are normally tormented with gratuitous cosmetic dentistry to make them look like Stepford wives, so that any dental individuality is regarded as strange.” If, by individuality, you mean clear evidence that one has never actually seen a dentist, this Sheffield inhabitant may be on the right track. I have seen some appallingly bad teeth over here, but they are also certainly not the norm.

Ricky Gervais, who played a dentist in Ghost Town, was complimented by an American journalist for being prepared to wear unflattering false teeth for the role. Gervais responded: “These are my real teeth. Do you think I’d wear them all the time if they weren’t real?”

Another online comment blamed Canadians (or at least one Canadian, Mike Myers) by crediting the rumours of bad British teeth to Austin Powers. After shifting the blame to his northern neighbours, the Boston commentor wrote: “Americans are quiet on the subject of teeth since our first president didn’t have any, except made of ivory and held together by frightful metal springs.”

While I can unequivocally assert that this particular stereotype is untrue, it is probably reinforced by the fact that it is incredibly difficult to see a dentist in this country. Dental plans in the UK can be attained in a few different ways (I have recently become an expert on the subject after completing an article on the latest in dental plans for my magazine, Employee Benefits). The NHS, the National Health Service, is the UK’s version of OHIP. Despite accounting for 70% of treatment, NHS dental practices are inundated with queues and patients still have to pay most of the cost. Private dental fees, however, are unregulated, and so can run into the hundreds, or thousands, of pounds.

So, essentially, the options are: Wait in line for hours only to fork out at the very least £16.50 of your hard-earned cash for a basic check-up that barely involves opening your mouth, or see a private and probably very expensive dentist that basically bankrupts you. I went with the first option, unaware of the brevity and unthorough nature of the check-up, because I had no choice.

Since the end of 2009, I have been experiencing sporadic pain in the back left corner of my mouth, presumably the growing pains of one set of wisdom teeth, more than 10 years later than those of every single person I know and still the early birds compared to the other, inactive corners of my mouth. The pain comes and goes so that, armed with codeine-laced pain killers, I can pretend it isn’t happening until it subsides for weeks at a time. The past week has been so intensely painful that I had to cave in and have my teeth checked out.

I asked around about seeing a dentist and, despite my extensive research for my dental plan feature, this is how I learned about the real dodgy NHS-funded practices. I was warned that, if I was offered a next-day appointment, I should hang up the phone and avoid that dentist. I made a few calls and I found a walk-in clinic on Upper Street near my flat. I had walked past it on the weekend and was able to case the place before I made an appointment. It looked clean, modern and respectable, so I arranged to drop by before work yesterday morning.

I was very nervous before my appointment, unsure what to expect and wondering whether all the rumours of British dentists were true. I also, understandably, was dreading hearing the words “impacted” and “infected” to describe my wisdom teething and what that would mean for dental treatment down the road.

Because of my hesitation, I was surprised when I was in with a lovely young dentist after only waiting for 30 minutes. I was even more surprised when she barely looked inside my mouth. I told her about my little wisdom, half exposed outside the gum, and my big pain, then she poked each tooth while announcing its number, commented on my weak flossing, and quickly took an x-ray of each side of my mouth. That was the check-up.

The bad news? The damn tooth is coming in sideways. It should probably come out. And, it typically takes up to eight weeks to get a pre-surgery consultation and another three to four months to secure an actual appointment. The good news? The wires behind my teeth that have been in place since the last round of braces came off (yes, I had them twice) are preventing the tooth from moving too fast. The dentist prescribed some heavier drugs, in case the pain persists. Plus, the whole removal operation can take place in a hospital where it will be covered by government healthcare.

All in all, not too traumatizing. Since the weekend, the pain has subsisted somewhat, though it is still rather difficult to open my mouth wide enough to eat sandwiches, which makes me sad because I am in love with mature cheddar and pickle. And I made it through my first UK dental appointment with minimal emotional scarring. I am still very shocked that a basic dental check-up does not involve any cleaning as I’m used to at home. But that does seem to be par for the course here. (Without getting too graphic, even at my first GP’s appointment I learned that the basic female test we all have taken as a typical part of any annual medical check-up is only included here every five years.)

No wonder Britian, known for its revolutionary healthcare system, can afford to offer these annual medical and dental “check-ups” to everyone. No wonder the country is peppered with less than pearly whites. Simply skimping on the basic aspects of a check-up, like an easy teeth clean, can really cut down costs.