Smiling Underneath

It has been a long time since I wrote a blog about anything of note… but as I find myself halfway through my battle with a very particular demon of mine then actually I could use the chance to talk to myself a little just to ease the journey and to keep myself going to be perfectly honest.


The first point of note is that this journey really means something to me. Enough for me to have now written two songs about my experiences with dentists and the utterly opposite encounters I have had with them. This is very much in an attempt to further my own mental health, and writing these songs has helped me immensely, to the point where I could not have continued my journey without them.


First I need to explain the back story, before I cash in the meaning and specific references from the two songs. So here goes.

The start of the story goes back to 1981. I was running around the living room and tripped and fell and my face landed on the metal corner of the coffee table which went straight through my lip. I still have the scars, but the hospital visit even at that age stayed with me forever. I received stitches in my lip with no anaesthetic. I was 4 years old. My mum played blue murder with the hospital, as my screams could be heard throughout the emergency department. I’ve struggled with trusting surgery ever since then.

At the age of 8 I was to have 8 teeth out. I was blessed with too many teeth as a child, and I went in like a lamb to the slaughter, completely unaware of the pain that awaited me. I was put under gas, and woke some time later, 8 teeth out but the pain was more than I could cope with. I was inconsolable for 2 days and in absolute agony.

Then I was 12 years old. The dentist opposite Pontefract bus station was at least a place I could get to on my own on the way home from school, and I was to have a molar on the bottom left of my mouth removed. I went in alone. In hindsight this was a bloody stupid idea. The dentist was absolutely fucking sadistic. He was short with me, as a boy. He got on with it and paid no mind to my stress and anxiety. He simply pushed down horrendously hard in my mouth and twisted and I felt every crack and splinter as the tooth shattered under the pressure he had over applied. He spent another 20 minutes fishing around to find the bits of root that had stayed behind. I was again utterly destroyed and when I left and got home a piece of me had changed forever. I decided to never go the dentist ever again.

Back in the present and it is 2012, 23 years later and unbeknownst to me I am about to have my journey with Crohn’s disease. My teeth were in a bad way and had been causing me serial instances of pain through abscesses and teeth cracking and breaking regularly. I simply had to go and find a dentist. My oath to myself was always going to have to be broken at some stage. But I was in a good place and needed to take control. I went to MCM dental services in Wakefield where I met an older male dentist. He seemed OK, but I was clearly under prepared for the visit and was there under duress more than choice, and so I had to go along with it. This was the wrong situation for me to take this demon on.

I sat in the chair after a good 10 minutes of procrastinating. I sat bolt upright and couldn’t sit back. I wanted to trust this dentist so much that I just had to go for it and explain my situation. I wear my heart on my sleeve. Always have… but this person needed to understand where I was coming from and why I was so utterly terrified. I started at the being 12 years old and covered that quickly, and then went on and explained about my dad.

My dad died from cancer of the colon, which spread to his liver and that is what ended his life. However, he also experienced a tragic death that came sooner than it might, thanks to malpractice of surgery. The short version being, that he needed a TPN line putting into his artery below his collar bone. He was 4 stone, 6 foot 1, and jaundiced and was terminal. Sadly the TPN line was not secured by the surgeon and in the night he moved and the end fell inside him. The surgeons went in again the following day to fish out the end but sadly they slipped and punctured my dad’s lung. He died a week later.

I explained all this to this new dentist who I was placing all my trust in to look after me, in a 20 minute burst of anxiety and tears which was essentially a plea. Please look after me. I need to trust you.

What happened instead was that he finally got me to sit back, and as the tears were still drying on my cheeks the dentist said “Your mouth is a disaster area.”

I was at my utter lowest. I had just revealed my most intimate fears and he kicked me mentally in the head with the worst sentence he could have ever said to me. I absolutely fucking hate that man for doing that. So much so that I refuse to even utter his name.

What he did do, was to have a poke round and said that what needed doing was an operation to remove 4 teeth at the hospital. Then with some audacity, he then tried to suggest that he wanted to be the one to work on my teeth after that operation, but unsurprisingly I have never been back to see him.

The hospital papers came through and despite being absolutely fucking terrified I went through with the operation. I woke feeling euphoric, and utterly relieved that the cause of so much discomfort for years of my life were finally removed. I went home and drank lots and lots of luke-warm tea. The only drawback was I ached all over, like I had been moved around like a giant slab of meat. I felt like I had run a marathon without knowing about it. That sensation lasted over a week.

It was actually pretty soon after that operation that problems began elsewhere. I had Crohn’s disease but wasn’t aware of it at the time. I was about to have another operation, this time on my colon, and I was really scared of the procedures I was about to undergo. It is only relevant here because after that operation I spent the next 18 months taking steroids to mask my Crohn’s symptoms, but my teeth that remained were hit hard by the steroids. Steroids weaken bones and your teeth. They make them brittle and my teeth soon started to crumble. Suddenly I realised that years of smoking were being magnified over this time and as I continued to smoke, my teeth blackened and fell apart.

One thing that kept me going though was my song-writing. After my awful experience with the “disaster area” dentist, I was hit with Crohn’s so it took a while before I was able to start writing music again. As I recovered from the colon operation, the reality of what he had said rattled around my brain and I simply had to get it out. I wrote “Smiling Underneath” in the summer of 2012.


Smiling Underneath:


There’s something hidden up my sleeve,

I’m taking notes about the, way I’d rather be,

In perfect harmony, the roots don’t work out…

Biting my lip through gritted teeth,

Unstable dental health, disaster area,

It’s much more scary, when the words don’t come out…


All of a sudden see my soul descending,

Somehow it feels just like a stone is sinking me,

I’m punctuating through a life-long sentence,

Despite what you see,

I think I’m smiling underneath.


There must be something in the air,

I’m taking special care to, find the reasoning,

The rhyming treason is the truth won’t come out…

There’s only so much I can bear,

I’m breathing easier, it’s hard to swallow but,

It’s much more shallow, when my breath won’t breathe out…


All of a sudden see my soul descending,

Somehow it feels just like a stone is sinking me,

I’m punctuating through a life-long sentence,

Despite what you see,

I think I’m smiling underneath.


I really hope it goes well,

This is my version of hell,

I’m passing control to the ones who I distrust the most.

I guess it’s time to man up,

But I’m as scared as fuck,

I’m hoping to wake up on Sunday but smiling a beam.

I guess I’m smiling underneath…


Is there something I need to sign?

I’m taking all my time to, read the smaller type,

Extracting all the hype, the chair won’t go down.

There’s only so much I can do,

The rest is up to you, there’s just no doubting all the,

Screams and shouting will not stop this man now…


All of a sudden see my soul descending,

Somehow it feels just like a stone is sinking me,

I’m punctuating through a life-long sentence,

Despite what you see,

I think I’m smiling underneath.


Hold my head up high…

Hold my head up high…

Hold my head up high…

Hold my head up high…


This first song, “Smiling Underneath” was written on the negative side of the dental journey. It was written to help me cope with the psychology of what had happened and therefore it was quite a cheerful tune, despite the subject matter being about things that I was terrified of. I needed the music to make it all better. Now, when I listen to that song, it does make me feel better, because something catchy and hopeful came out of that horrible experience, as is the way with using music as a form of therapy. I simply had to write it. Maybe my explanation of what transpired has highlighted exactly why the lyrics say what they say and those who know me and who know the song, might smile to see the truth of the matter in retrospect. This song means a great deal to me because it gave me a way to not lose hope. It made me want to get my smile back. I wanted to prove the ‘disaster’ dentist fucker wrong.

I finished the song and even made a music video set in a hospital to reflect how utterly terrified I was. I chose to have my face in black and white, to mimic how you lose the colour from your face when you are about to go through something traumatic but kept the background in colour. The people in the background are walking backwards and I am walking forwards, again another reference to being scared as your legs feel heavy as they take you closer to something you do not want to walk towards. The relief comes in the form of Seb and Reg, two sock puppets I made especially for the video, with perfect grinning teeth who are excellent backing singers. That whole experience of making the video to that song all helped to maximise the therapy from it. I needed to do it to move on from the hurt that the disaster dentist had caused me. That is how deep his comments had gone. I was finally in a position to start thinking about seeing someone to see what other options were available to me.

Just then though in 2015 and again in 2016 my left lung packed in. Spontaneous Pneumothorax and lung disease in both lungs. I had a VATS bullectomy and TALC pluerodesis to glue my left lung to my chest cavity, but my right lung actually has worse disease than the left and should have been the one to collapse. It still might collapse at any time. As my left lung had collapsed in my sleep when it was completely inert, it made sense that doing something as traumatic as an operation on my teeth would be too much for my diseased lungs to cope with. Even so much as a sneeze could make it collapse and that will always be the case as the lung disease will never heal. I was left simply feeling grateful to be alive after my lung operation failed on the first attempt and I nearly passed away as my body went into shock. My sister and best friend raced to grab a surgeon in time to re-inflate my lung and between them they saved my life. I have been dealing with the impact of that ever since.

I resigned myself to a life of shit teeth. An operation on my teeth was a risk that was a step too far for me to be able to take. After I realised that, my self-esteem slowly packed its bags.

So I did my best to get on with things and life got interesting as I tried my best to avoid all illnesses and colds. My lung issues still control every single thing that I do, but the biggest thing that I needed to work on was my mental health. The damage being ill did to me was much, much bigger than I ever realised. I did not feel safe, and now I live in a situation that is unsafe every single day, I simply had to find a way to exist with a much stronger attitude to cope with the risk that doing something stupid might make my right lung collapse. I had to get vigilant. I also had to start prioritising.

I went into healing mode and slowly started to get my guitar out now and again and began going for little walks. My friends and family were fantastic and are still very careful and tell me whenever they have a cold and I quite rightly avoid them if there is so much as a snivel. Always though, at the back of my mind, was this sense that I wanted to get back to a kind of zero point, like my own version of a base health for me with my Crohn’s and my lung disease that was all taken into account. How could I get to the best I can be knowing that my best is still in minus numbers compared to others without these things holding them back? I decided I still needed to try.

It is now 2018 and I had heard a rumour from the same best friend who had saved my life that she was enjoying going to St Michaels Dental Practise, ironically at the end of my street. I listened but stayed quiet for a long, long time. Then one day I just thought sod it. I walked in and asked about how to register. That took some balls if I’m honest. I just did it. Terrified, I took a leaflet and did exactly what they said, which was come back in May, which was 2 months away. I did go back, and again I had to wait longer, but eventually I got a preliminary appointment. That was a scary day, but I went in and that is the day I met Miss Connelly.

I sat in the chair with great trepidation, but Miss Connelly was all ears and seemed properly and genuinely interested in being my hero. I began at the beginning and told her all of it. Everything that you have just read, and again I was in tears by the end. This time though, I added everything about disaster dentist. She was absolutely horrified. When I got to the end I had to calm down and get my composure back. Miss Connelly smiled warmly and asked me to sit back to have a look, but she said that at any time if I needed her to stop that I should just say so. To this day she has never once ignored a request to stop. She took an x-ray and prodded my gums behind my teeth and said some dental jargon to her assistant and then sat me back up.

“Ryan, your mouth is not a disaster area at all.”

More tears.

“I honestly believe we can absolutely get you your smile back”

“Does that mean you are my dentist now?”


I got up and gave her a huge hug.

She seemed totally fine with that and said that we would see each other in a couple of weeks to review the x-rays and talk about a plan. She also said that no treatment would happen in the next visit whatsoever, and that just getting used to sitting in the chair was fine for now. We would simply talk about how to proceed in a way that I was comfortable with.

A couple of visits later and we have decided that I need 9 teeth out. At the time, I agreed rather rashly that it would be an operation, in a hospital just in case any issues with the lung surfaced mid-procedure and for a while I was ok with that. I was wrong. As the operation approached, my lung developed another issue. Compressed alveoli. I felt as though I was drowning and was getting stressed super quickly and had no idea why. I went back to hospital and had a CT scan and correctly cancelled the operation. We left it a bit until my lung got a little better and then I went back to see Miss Connelly.


“Miss Connelly?”


“Is there any chance that you could be the one to take my teeth out? I think I might be too scared to go under general anaesthetic”.

“Of course!! Are you sure?”

“Yes. I trust you completely. I actually think if I am awake and can control my anxiety that we may get somewhere instead of risking it being asleep.”

“In that case let’s do that. We’ll make a treatment plan and see you in a week to discuss how we move forward.”

The simple fact was I now absolutely trusted this amazing lady. She has never ever hurt me once. We drew up a plan and got busy doing the fillings. Every filling was a few seconds of rumbling and then she would stop, ask if I was OK… remind me to breathe and only would continue if I said OK. She really is that caring and careful.

Now, I am 2 teeth out with 7 to go. I am not scared in the slightest. Actually fillings were the worst bit, and they did not hurt. The only pain has been after the anaesthetic wears off after the teeth are out as you would expect, and even then strong painkillers hide that for a couple of days and then I am just careful to rinse with salt water and to eat on the other side.

I now KNOW hand on heart, that I can get my smile back. It is a team effort, and every time I go in to see Miss Connelly we laugh and have a good gossip and I feel completely at ease because that trust is there. She has single-handedly fixed my trust of dentists, with just a little dash of being brave at the right time from me.

I am so heavily invested in this emotionally and mentally that I simply had to write another song to finish the story. The sister-song to “Smiling Underneath”. I went for a walk a couple of weeks ago and the title appeared in my brain. “Laughing Out Loud.”

I asked Miss Connelly’s permission to include her in the song and she seemed absolutely delighted, although she has yet to hear it. I think I will show her it once the teeth are all out and we’re closer to the end of the process.


Laughing Out Loud:


Passing broken mirrors and trying not to flinch,

Scarred with bad decisions and yellow fingertips.

A blackened smile, used to haunt my self-esteem,

I spent a while, in a haze of smoky dreams…

Time to wake up,

Never or now…


Trusting hope can weather the reign of many storms,

Find the strength to gather momentum through the doors,

Beside myself, are the shadows of my past,

Decide to hell, with the glances that they cast,

Bite the bullet,

Line every cloud…


No it doesn’t hurt,

It could be much worse,

So I’m laughing out loud…

No I won’t look back,

Chose a different path,

And I’m laughing out Loud…


If Miss Connelly says it will be alright,

Then I know in the end it will be just fine,

So I open wide and I hold my breath,

And the light closes in and I’m scared to death,


But I’ll go through the motions, I won’t fall apart,

Cos I trust you with every inch of my heart,

So I close my eyes but I cannot believe,

It’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be,


And I hope that you see but I’m really not sure,

But well, thanks to you I’m not scared anymore,

I’m on the way home and I feel a bit proud,

Cos I’m smiling underneath and I’m… Laughing out loud.


No it doesn’t hurt,

It could be much worse,

So I’m laughing out loud…

No I won’t look back,

Chose a different path,

And I’m laughing out Loud…


Got my smile back,

I can’t thank you ever enough.


And there you have it. The full story behind why I had to use music as a therapy to get me though this battle against my demons. It has been a belter of a journey, with more lows than there should have been, but the good news is that I did not let the disaster dentist win. I will get my smile back. It is already much better than it used to be.

My appointment list was 18 appointments long and I am exactly halfway through so far. I finish in early September just a week or so before my 42nd birthday. I will be smiling my head off by then. I need 7 more teeth out and some dentures putting in here and there but once the decaying teeth are removed my health should really start to improve. My self-esteem is already on the way up and August 10th will be my 3 year anniversary as a non-smoker. I refuse to let that horrible dentist spoil my journey, and I am very glad to say that thanks to Miss Connelly and a little self-belief, that it is absolutely possible to get my smile back. As you can see, I cannot ever thank Miss Connelly enough for the outstanding work she has done and for how amazing she has been with me.

If you struggle with dentists too, and you are scared to move forward, feel free to get in touch with me. I will advise and help you as much as I can, if I can. It would be my honour to help.


Believe me, if I can beat it, then you can too.


Ryan Mitchell-Smith


Pulling Teeth


After being asked by my friend Marion to take part in her 50 firsts in her 50th year challenge, she has asked me to aid her once again (she must be mad!!) only this time to pass comment on 1 thing that is a first for me that I have done since February this year. The opportunity to help Marion out is a no brainer, but also I haven’t actually blogged about my chosen first so here it is…

Since February I have had an operation under General Anaesthetic for the first time.

The decision to go ahead and get my teeth sorted was not easy. Many who know me, are at least aware that for me, this was a big deal. The super condensed version of events rolls like this…

Back in 1997 my dad tragically passed away. Cancer. The big C got him. He was 3 months away from his given “time’s up” date. Health at a standstill. Jaundiced. Unable to feed himself as he had not enough strength to raise his arms. This prompted a TPN line to be surgically placed into his main artery under his collar bone, to provide food proteins through a drip. When put to bed, he moved slightly in the night, and the line came out as it had not been secured in any way… it was just sticking into him. He bled. The surgeons took the line out the following day but the end fell further inside him. They went in again to fish it out and slipped, puncturing his lung. He died a few days later.

That, mixed with my own terrifying experiences of dentist visits through my childhood, removed all trust I had for any surgically related thing or person ever. I didn’t go to the dentist for 12 years. I went once by accident a few years ago, an emergency dentist, who confounded my distrust.

2 years ago I started getting abscesses in my mouth, under my teeth, which I would merely pain kill, for ridiculous amounts of time, taking tablets over the prescribed dose, just to get through the pain. Then I got used to the pain, and worked, through 4 abscesses.

18 months ago the fifth abscess took me off work and nearly collapsed my whole head. I got through it again but this is when the teeth causing the problem started to poison me with toxins. 3 molars decayed into stumps. I couldn’t eat solid food and lived on soup, rice or soft pasta for over a year before I got the courage to go to see *a* dentist.

Another abscess last Christmas and the decision became much more urgent. I had to go; I couldn’t eat so much as a cup-a-soup and had ridiculous IBS and acid problems. I was also struggling to sing, play harmonica or smile in anyway shape or form. Mum intervened. With some backing from her and some words of wisdom I finally had what I needed to make the call. I went and saw Dr Jack Roberts. Dentist.

Jack is a dude. He’s in his sixties.. Been doing this shit for 40 years. He sat me down in the chair after 5 minutes of my waffling/shaking. He told me the clock was off and to tell him everything. I did. Tears occurred. He then told me off for not brushing my teeth. I liked him.

He had a look after promising not to go near anything other than a mirror. The news wasn’t good. He described my mouth as a “disaster area” and reeled off a list so long and complicated that I think the assistant fell asleep. He explained that nothing could happen at all until I had the 3 worst offenders removed, and that in their state, they would merely crumble and that going under General Anaesthetic was the only option. He put me on the waiting list and said he would give me antibiotics when I got my next abscess, to keep me going until the op date, as I would probably get more.

Another abscess and Jack was true to his word. He congratulated me on cleaning my teeth on my second visit. At this point I started writing a song humming some lyrical reference to smiling underneath… (listen here)

The Operation date came through earlier than expected. July 21st. Shit.

I got my head down, tried not to think about it and thought everyday about why I had finally decided to do this. I wanted to smile again. And sing. And play harmonica. Oh yes… and eating. Lots of that.

I turned up as promised having starved myself of coffee and mints the night before and went in to see the big scary man with the needle. He was great. He got a short version of this story and got busy getting some Emla sorted out for my hands so I wouldn’t feel the needle, which I hadn’t realised, would be a drip type one going into my hand, rather than a big vein one… I had that one for a couple of hours and sat in the waiting room with my friend Cat to keep me company whilst I rocked to and fro thwibbing my lips.

“Ryan Mitchell-Smith please”

Can my stomach go that far down? Wow. Utter nauseous-ness. Shit. Shitty shit shit.

I went through to the scary room and the nice guy from before asked me to get up on the table and lie back. I did. I then began to shake rather uncontrollably from the neck down, and whilst compus-mentus, thanked the team in advance and apologised for what my body was doing to me. It was leaving the table violently without my control. The nice man said “Don’t worry Ryan, we expected this, I got extra supplies just in case. Here’s a free couple of pints on the NHS…” I didn’t hear another thing.

I woke 45 minutes later on the ward covered in blood. There were tears streaming from my eyes as I woke and I cried for nearly ten minutes without knowing really why or why I was smiling.

I assured the nurses I was ok…

“Iht awight.. I OKAY”

They sorted me out with… chicken soup… in a cup. It was luke warm but my god I yummed it right up.

Nice man came through to see how I was doing…

“Erm.. What are you doing awake? I gave you enough to sink a rhinoceros!”

“Hehehehehe eeeah. ou id.” :)

I recovered steadily and waited for them to tell me I could move. Oh. Jesus fucking Christ. My whole body felt as though I’d run 2 marathons… and my chest.. What had happened to my chest!?!

As it turns out, I had 2 lower back molars removed and an upper left. That was the shitter. They had to pull my head right back to get any purchase on it and bruised my chest. Needed doing though, and they did a great job. A great deal of faith restored, for what it was worth.

I had booked two weeks off work to recover and I needed every day of it… slowly eating and blending all my food at least until the holes in my gums closed enough to be safe. I decided then, that my first steak would be on birthday 35.

That was a couple of weeks ago. It was fucking stunning.

His anniversary is on saturday (20th Oct) and I’m spending the evening in with another steak, a glass of red, with a smile on. :)