My mother 's idiom included some rather odd sayings. One, used when she was fumbling for words, is, "I got my tongue wrapped around my eyetooth and couldn't see to talk." Another, used on occasions of jaw-dropping astonishment, is, "My teeth almost fell out of my mouth."
"Well, that's absurd," you say. But wait -- let me acquaint you with
the state of teeth in my house. My mother succumbed to false teeth in her forties, both upper and lower plates. My dad managed to hang on to his lower teeth -- he needed those to prop up his pipestem -- but also had an upper plate. I remember the day he had the remaining upper teeth extracted; he swore and spit blood out the window as he drove us from the dentist's office in the nearby town to our home up the holler. It seemed like a very long trip.
As you might imagine, the technology of false teeth in those days was somewhat ... approximate ... to belabor a point. A few days after the extraction, the dentist took a mold for the bottom (or the top, as may be) of the plate. The dentist also helped you pick the size and style of teeth, hopefully somewhat like your real teeth used to be. Before insertion, one cushioned the lower plate with a strip of foam material, and slathered the channels in both upper and lower plates with a fixative or glue. I wonder what that tasted like?
As time passed, the bone in the jaw deteriorated, and the plates loosened. The solution was more padding or better glue. Only in dire cases when a plate broke was a new one in order.
From time to time, the suction in my mother's upper plate would break, and the plate would fall to the bottom of her mouth with a loud "clack". She'd stick her thumb under the plate and lever it back into place without missing a beat. So, you see, it's wholly possible for one's teeth to almost fall out of one's mouth.
Wearing plates was not uncommon in that generation in that part of the country, in Appalachia. Bridges were much too expensive and implants didn't exist. When you lost enough teeth to compromise either biting or chewing, the dentist often recommended complete extraction and false teeth. Say goodbye to corn on the cob! Oh, and to raspberries -- those tiny seeds are very uncomfortable when they work their way under the plate. And maybe to steak, if you ever ate such a thing.
At least there was one benefit -- you never had to floss. One of my enduring memories is the glass of blue liquid, bubbling with the fervor of alka seltzer, in which reposed my mother's pink and white choppers. They cleaned themselves in the glass while she slept -- just like your retainer in the little cup of Retainer Brite. In the morning, a quick going-over with a nail brush and a rinse and voila! Clean teeth! And never any dental caries.
My own teeth aren't going to fall out of my mouth any time soon, although I believe it may have been a near thing. In our house, you went to the dentist when you had a toothache. He would either drill and fill or, if it was bad enough, pull the tooth. That is all. His drill was slow, slow, and he never numbed for fillings.
In college, I worked part-time and used some of my money to see a better dentist. I'm virtually certain he gave me a price break. He put in a creative spacer that saved the teeth in my left lower jaw. And in my early 20s I had a great deal of work done. My Yugoslavian dentist, who did all her own casting, furnished me with a mouthful of gold crowns. They lasted for 40 years, and in fact I still have two of them.
The young hygienists and techs at my (thankfully) very-up-to-date dentist often can't forbear to remark the teeth missing from my mouth (among others a canine that my childhood dentist removed because it overlapped an incisor) and the odd-looking, smoothly-rounded gold crowns.
The ability to bite and chew and to enjoy food is essential to aging happily. My mother-in-law, unlike my mother, kept her teeth in her mouth. Until the last month of her life, she ate with gusto. I'm planning to do the same.
So don't let your teeth fall out of your mouth, whatever it takes. In addition to contributing to a healthy old age, they keep your nose from touching your chin -- unless, of course, you're a witch and you like the nose-to-chin look, in which case ...