The Kind Dentist.
The dentist that helped me face my eating disorder.
TW: Eating disorders, dental work.
In 2014 I was a university student, working my summer at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, rushed off my feet managing a pop-up espresso martini bar, squeezing in as many free shows and possible and partying with new friends. As busy as the bar work was, it was exhilarating.
I was still living in the weird transitional period that many experience when they move away to university. Although I was essentially permanently living Edinburgh, I still travelled home to my parents house in Newcastle to collect important mail, visit the hairdressers, the dentist, and was even still registered to a doctor there too. Looking back, I wasn’t quite ready to take control of all these things for myself.
So, when met with sudden, insatiable jaw pain I had little choice but to spend my one day off in the emergency dental clinic. I didn’t think much of it at the time mind, I thought it would be something small and treatable, and I’d be back with my free pass around my neck, watching a show in no time.
An emergency dental clinic is just as you would expect; cold and clinical. There is no effort to make it more welcoming. Although futile if you’re nervous anyway, at least a family dental practice will try - with heavily worn magazines, a fish tank, stickers for children and acoustic covers of popular music.
I waited for hours for my name to be called, and walked into a dental room with blacked out windows and stained floor tiles. I still remember that it smelt like burnt coffee and chemicals. The dentist on duty was not one for airs and graces. He grumpily asked about my symptoms and then gave me a bit of stick for not being locally registered. Fair enough, I thought.
I climbed into the dentist’s chair and quite quickly he identified the cause. A swollen gum around one molar gave the game away. Years before I’d cracked it and had to have it repaired.
He did an X-ray, and dug into the offending tooth, where he got to the the ugly root of the problem. I sat there, mouth open in the chair as he looked at the dental nurse and said: “it needs to come out.”
Initially I thought he meant the filling, but no, he meant the whole tooth. He delivered the news in such a stark manner that it hit me right in the pit of my stomach, and my eyes started to sting with tears. He said he could yank it out then and there, but I just couldn’t face it. My tooth was given a reprieve, but he told me that I needed to see to it as soon as possible.
I shuffled home, called my parents and cried in bed for hours. I was only twenty, how could I possibly be losing a tooth? I was so deeply ashamed, but not just because of my failing dental health, there was a much deeper truth that I had desperately been trying to ignore.
At first, denial hit. I decided the emergency dentist must be wrong. They were the big bad wolf in this story. I quickly got myself registered with a local dentist, convinced my manager to let me have an afternoon off, and went for a second opinion.
The dentist I visited this time was a kind, gentle man who I happened know already. He was a regular at a coffee shop I used to work at, a medium cappuccino with extra chocolate sprinkles type. By contrast, their waiting room did have dog-eared magazines with visible finger prints, a goldfish, and the vaguely familiar music.
I was quickly ushered into the dentist’s chair where he delivered the same verdict on the tooth, but in a much softer way. Then he looked me in the eye, with deep concern and said to me: “Anna, I want to level with you here, is there something you need to tell me?”
I knew immediately he was talking about my eating disorder. I’d read on online forums that they could sometimes tell. I felt unmasked and consoled at the same time.
Over the last two years my eating disorder had not only come back, but evolved — I was not only starving myself, but purging too. I’d kept that truth entirely to myself. I thought no one could possibly know. My life was great. I was in the middle of the world’s biggest arts festival, surrounded by fun and friends. But it turns out, my worn down back teeth told him the whole story.
He continued to be kind, but made one thing absolutely clear, if I didn’t stop, in the long term, I’d be losing more than just this tooth. He suspected this was reason the repair had failed, and I found myself faced with a gap at twenty.
My secret habit had consequences, and for the first time, I could see them, clear as day. I couldn’t deny the impact my eating disorder was having anymore. It suddenly felt very real when I could feel gum where there should be a tooth, and even more real when I was handed a denture to conceal the gap.
I had to go through a long, expensive and painful process to have the gap filled with a permanent implant. Once it was fitted, it was almost as if the whole thing had never happened. To any onlooker I had a full set of healthy looking teeth.
But, the dentist’s intervention and genuine concern, set me on a journey of recovery, way more meaningful than any replacement tooth, and a restored confidence in my smile.
A week after he fed me the truth, I went to my doctor and opened up. Thankfully there was no long waiting list for support, the practice was trialling a new Cognitive Behavioural Therapy programme, specifically for patients with bulimia.
At first, I was uncomfortable with the term ‘bulimic’, but that wasn’t important, I was being proactive and making that first step. It felt good.
As part of the programme, I had online tasks to complete and met with a specialist every fortnight too. Soon, I had the tools to recognise, and finally do something about the cycle I continually found myself trapped in.
We often hear that eating disorders develop as a way for someone to establish control, but after completing the programme I finally knew what it actually felt like to be in control. My eating disorder had always made me feel quite the opposite, it was fuelled by chaos.
More than seven years on, and the techniques I learnt are still helpful, and my false tooth serves as a reminder of the journey I’ve been on. I now spend way more time flossing than I do fretting over how to punish myself for fuelling my body.
I also know that I will always be in some state of recovery. Eating disorders tend pop back up when life gets too much, and sometimes I need to try a little harder to keep those feelings at bay. But, overall I am well, and my teeth are too.
It’s difficult to imagine how I would have started to heal without someone stepping in and blowing my cover. So I guess this is an ode to a dentist, the unlikely health professional that acted as a catalyst to my recovery.
If you have been affected by this topic support is available, visit:
https://www.beateatingdisorders.org.uk/ (UK based)
https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/ (US based)
https://www.worldeatingdisordersday.org/get-involved/participating-organisations/ (List of international eating disorder organisations)
