20. Oxford.
feminist, dog-lover and baking enthusiast.
I have an appointment with the orthodontist tomorrow. It’s my first orthodontic appointment in almost six years and I am really, really dreading it.
I’m going because my jaw is a pain in the arse and I don’t want to have to deal with it for the rest of my life; I think it’s getting worse, but even if it’s not currently, it will and it will cause me problems and I’m not putting up with it. I had braces for seven years to fix it, and it’s not fixed; the NHS refused to give me braces at such a young age, so my parents paid and it sort of feels a lot like a waste of money.
It makes me so angry because I feel like I was so misled. I feel like they told me lies to get me to do what they wanted and that’s not fair. I was a good kid and I would’ve done what I was told, but if you’re going to give me a choice, then let it be a fair one and a properly informed one. I don’t actually think I should’ve been given a choice at all, to be honest. I was seven when I got my first retainer and twelve when I chose to have train tracks instead of carrying on with a retainer; my orthodontist wasn’t thrilled that I chose train tracks and would’ve rather carried on, but he gave me that choice. If he knew that train tracks were going to be less effective, then he should’ve just not let me have a choice. How difficult is that? Why let a bolshy twelve-year-old decide, over and above the wishes of a fucking licensed practitioner? What is that? Because now I’m left with a still-not-properly-aligned jaw and I will either have to have braces again (and to be honest, I’m not sure I won’t tell him to fuck off if he suggests that) or major surgery to fix it. To fix what should’ve been fixed so many years ago.
Poo poo poo poo :(
