Breaking Bread and Smiling Sincerely
Teeth Traumas
This Spring has been a season of smiles. I celebrated a milestone birthday, traveled with my bike, and went camping a few times. From this joyous spot in my recovery, I can safely share one of the hardest parts of my healing.
I enjoy greeting my friends with a sincere smile. To strangers, I smile almost reflexively as if to share my vibe and openness to the world. In my crash during last year’s ACF week, I face-planted into the asphalt. The landing forever changed my smile.
In my mind, the aftermath of that wreck is clear to see on my signature greeting. Almost the entire right side of my face was bruised. My forehead and cheeks have lingering marks from meeting the road. My upper lip still has raised scars. Some parts of my usually smiling lip have nerve damage. Most people could not see from the wreck, that I lost a chunk of tooth. From the many accounts I heard of my crash, the most jarring was this visual. A sweet and sensitive friend balked at the memory as she recounted watching me sit up from my crash and then spitting a bloodied tooth into my palm. Two other front-row teeth have a permanent crack across them. I no longer eat baguettes.
One of the best forms of support I got from the M+M crew was that they connected me to the dentist who was on that very ride. The dentist saw my crash and offered to do my dental work pro bono. For my first visit in early June 2023, Mayuresh drove me an hour, each way, to and from the dentist’s office. There, the good doctor began a series of treatments that would last past my wheelchair days. My first and earliest request was to have my front tooth back for my birthday, June 12th. The dentist put a temporary crown on my front tooth while we waited for a specialized type of facial scanner to develop a long-term dental care plan.
On the Sunday before my birthday, my mother offered to host a birthday party for me at her home. On the morning of that party, I had my friend Brandon drop by for a visit. We were colleagues and friends in the JET program in Japan. In Tokyo, we were avid foodies. Together, we had eaten a world of strange, slimy, and smelling foods. Brandon now lived in Charlotte, NC, and had been in Atlanta for a concert the night before. On his way out of town, he stopped by to bring me breakfast and for a chat.
He showed up to my place with a smorgasbord of breads and pastries from Alon’s Bakery. As we drank the coffee I made, we were excitedly catching up on our travel memories, reverse culture, and friendly gossip. In the tray of treats Brandon brought, I went for an egg and cheese sandwich on a crusty baguette. Initially, my bite was delicious. But one more bite in, I was surprised to find eggshells in my sandwich. Alon’s would not have served such a thing. That place would not be so clumsy. As I tried to isolate the eggshell, I realized it was no eggshell at all. My tongue found my tooth composite between the French bread bites.
Later when Brandon drove me to my birthday party, my tooth stub shined brightly at others. Most people graciously did not comment. When I went back to the dentist, again with the assistance of Mayuresh, I was embarrassed to recount my baguette story. The memory of that Alon’s present is still fresh in my mouth. The chipped tooth even features in several other photos from last year’s birthday shenanigans.
By October, I was well on my path to an excellent recovery and had resumed riding bikes. On a random rainy weeknight, I invited two friends over for dinner. I made us two courses. My friend Taylor brought dessert. Lis, generous and sweet, brought us a long loaf of bread. Somehow, after we all ate my Indian dish, salad, and dessert, we were still feeling peckish.
Lis got into the fancy bread she brought. I followed her lead and tore a chunk from the side. Unthinkingly, I chewed the crunchy bits. Nearly immediately, I noticed there was something strange in the bread… I ran to peek, privately and in horror, in the bathroom. My stomach turned as I realized made the same mistake twice. Again, I found my gorgeous dental work turned up on my tongue. This was the last time I would eat a baguette. By then, I was able to transport myself to the dentist for a fix. I was mortified to have to explain myself. Graciously, the dentist did not even ask what happened.
A chipped tooth seems just a cosmetic issue. But the repercussions run deep. A chipped tooth and numb lips made for awkward kissing. But this tooth imperfection gnaws deeply in another place. My parents immigrated to Atlanta with two young kids. It was through their hard work, gumption, and sacrifice that my parents provided us with the essential luxuries of an American life. All the kids in middle school were getting braces. Orthodontists are expensive. Yet, my parents began to afford the process of fixing our slightly imperfect teeth. While managing a 24-hour business, my father also made the effort to drive both me and my sister to our multiple appointments. My smile, through painstaking effort and costs, was truly a testament to my parent’s love. It feels difficult now, to reconcile all that familial work, with the current reality. One person’s selfish and careless riding has had the effect of tarnishing so much of my parent’s effort.
After my crash last year, when part of my face and upper lips were still numb, I struggled to remember that before I had teeth, I still had a smile. Since I have been young, people have told me they appreciate my grin. It is my most commented-on feature. As a child, my cheeks would gather in big clumps around my smile. My favorite aunts and uncles would take the liberty of squeezing my big cheeks.
As for the rest of my face, only in this past week, late June 2024, I finally was able to see a dermatologist for some scarring. The external marks of the crash may be present for a while. I have come to terms with the changes. Lately, I have been remembering from my grandmother’s example that the beauty of a smile comes from its sincerity. Still, for everybody who has tried to love me through food, I am very grateful. Yet, from now on, I will pass on the hard French bread.
I love your smile. It's infectious. Thanks for sharing this story, too. Now I fully understand what you mean about avoiding baguettes! (And wow, that was nice of the bike-riding dentist to do your original work pro bono.)