Many things seem to be suffering from teething problems. On the TimesLIVE website alone I found nine references to teething in various articles published during the past three months.
One of these was in a restaurant review smothered in a silky sauce of adjectives. For the most part, the writer devoured every crispy, cloud-soft and perfectly cooked morsel on her plate, but desserts, she wrote, were: “nothing to shout about, with a dry brownie and decidedly runny crème brûlée our unfortunate endpoint. Desserts are an easy fix, however, and I’ve chalked it up to teething issues common in the first month of a restaurant opening.”
One hopes that the restaurant in question took note and that it now serves toothsome puddings.
“Toothsome” is a word that has fallen out of fashion, which is a pity. From the mid-16th century, toothsome described something pleasant-tasting; before that it meant simply “attractive”. The original meaning had a brief slangy resurgence in novels written about a century ago, where a comely woman was sometimes referred to as “toothsome”.
Getting back to teething, which is hard to forget if you are afflicted by it, the articles included one in which Somizi Mhlongo-Motaung said preparations for his planned restaurant are “like the beginning teething phase”. Another was about new banks in SA, which were said by the head of another bank to be “still dealing with teething problems”.
Most of the teething problems, however, were mentioned in relation to the rollout of coronavirus vaccines.
In a news piece, officials from the World Health Organisation “appealed to governments and manufacturers to cooperate in addressing teething problems in the rollout”. And in an interview, SA’s Prof Glenda Grey pointed out that there are “always teething problems”, but “the thing about problems is that you must find solutions, which is what we are doing really well”.
The literal meaning of teething problems will be familiar to anyone who has ever been a parent to or in the vicinity of a human infant that is testing the power of its lungs to complain about the pain in its mouth.
When a baby’s teeth start breaking through its gums, it is said to be “teething”. This might seem an odd analogy to use for business start-ups and vaccine rollouts, because teething involves a great deal of suffering and sleeplessness. It is not pleasant for the child either.
But if you think about the risks and responsibilities that rest on the backs of new business owners and scientists trying to save the world, teething is an entirely appropriate metaphor for problems incurred in the early phases of their projects.
Teething, whether literal or figurative, is almost always attached to the word “problems”. There is no such thing as a teething celebration party or an award for the best teether.
As Prof Gray said, where problems exist, solutions must be found. There have been some fascinating solutions to soothe the gums of teething tots over the centuries.
In a paper published in the British Medical Journal in 2001, specialist dentist MP Ashley investigated the history of teething — which in literature was first mentioned by Greek poet Homer in 1200BC — and the never-ending search for a way to make this unavoidable condition more bearable.
Ashley writes: “In 117AD, the physician Soranus of Ephesus was the first to suggest using hare’s brain to ease teething. This remained a favoured remedy until the seventeenth century.”
This gory treatment must have had some effect, you’d think, otherwise it wouldn’t have persisted for 1,600 years. That said, other dubious beliefs have lasted even longer ... this one might have tailed off only because hares grew scarce. If supermarkets still stocked freshly frozen hares’ brains, we might still be rubbing a spoonful of little grey cells on baby gums twice a day.
Incidentally, the expression “hare-brained” arose in the 1500s. It means giddy, reckless or foolish, based on the flighty aspect of hopping hares. Seemingly it had nothing to do with little bottles of hare-brain paste given as gifts at baby showers.
Hare’s brain was by no means the most gruesome palliative for aching gums. Other common methods were to put bloodsucking leeches in the baby’s mouth or to slice into the gums with a sharp knife to allegedly relieve the pressure.
Ashley passes no judgement on treatments that make us shudder at the brutality of our ancestors. In his conclusion he says: “The beliefs and superstitions associated with teething throughout history appear amusing and it may cause concern that the profession was so willing to go along with practices so incorrect. Yet it is sobering to appreciate that our historic colleagues were acting on their existing knowledge and their professional and personal standing relied heavily on their reputation amongst their peers and patients. Maybe things have not changed so much after all. Will our colleagues of the future be smirking at our misguided ways?”
I wonder what the health professionals of the next millennium will have to say about our world’s response to the coronavirus? It’s hard to think they will smirk at the efforts of their medical forebears. The rigour, dedication and, for the most part, cooperation involved in the development and dispensing of vaccines has been nothing short of staggering, if you ask me. Prof Gray calls it “an unfolding miracle”. Like the growth of baby’s teeth.
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