I don't want no wisdumb!

This past week has been hellish and I am very glad that the excessive amounts of Tramadol and Metronidazol have kicked in and I am once more able to move my mouth and breathe, talk, and eat without being in screaming agony.

I usually have a high pain threshold, very rarely taking painkillers, and never before have I been reduced to tears, real sobbing tears over the pain in my mouth. Three days after having major surgery I stopped taking any pain relief and just got on with it however this wisdom tooth has literally brought me to my knees. If ever you need to take over a country, just arrange for all the powers that be to have painful dental work done in the days before you invade and they’ll all be too busy wandering round their flat clutching their jaw whilst sobbing like a baby to fight you off. Well, if they’re anything like me they will be!

The NHS, usually a bit of a saviour in times like this, has let me down massively. The emergency dentist took one look at the tooth, told me it was impacted and infected and that he couldn’t do a damned thing about it. He gave me the task of finding an NHS dentist accepting patients, register with them, wait until I could actually see the dentist and then ask for a referral to the oral surgeon at the hospital. ARGH! Friday night, after a lovely lovely day with @suziepooz and @ladytubedriver where I laughed so hard I thought I might die, I realised I was starting to look like a hamster and so took myself off to A&E. In Scumhampton, on Halloween weekend. What was I thinking!

So there was I, reading Anna Karenina whilst sat next to a girl who had been stabbed by her boyfriend and who was holding court very loudly about the fact that he needed to be sectioned because he was clearly ‘fuckin’ mental innit’ and that she wasn’t a grass and so was going to sort things out the proper way by sending the boys round. As if that wasn’t Jeremy Kyle-tastic enough, her entire chavvy family rocked up and had a pitched battle about whether or not to call the Police, which ironically ended with the receptionists calling the Police.

When I had served my time sat in the green room of the Jezza K show (it really felt like that) I got taken through to a patronising Doctor who, seeing I was in agony with my wisdom tooth started regaling me with stories about his own tooth issues. DUDE, I AM IN AGONY HERE, I. DON’T. CARE. He worked his way back into my good books by offering me Tramadol quite casually, I think I might have been so keen to get my hands on the good stuff that I practically leapt into his lap and licked the side of his face like a happy puppy. The one condition of getting my hands on a script for Tramadol was to let him have a poke around in my mouth. I say poke, I mean squeeze of course. He decided in his infinite wisdom that the very best course of treatment was to squeeze the infection out of my tooth, thus he started milking the pus out of my very sore tooth whilst I made noises that sounded like someone was bashing a puppy’s head in with a mallet. Once I’d survived the barbaric dentistry I was anticipating the sweet sweet pain relief of the Tramadol, floating me off on a cloud of wooziness and enabling me to lick my lips again. Cue the Doc coming back in to break the news that they didn’t have any Tramadol in stock and that I’d have to come back tomorrow….. You can imagine the catastrophic explosion that errupted from me, and yes, I’m ashamed to say it contained many many expletives. The best he could give me was a diazepam which I gratefully accepted like an extra in Trainspotting and shuffled off home to wander round the flat sobbing in pain again.

Fast forward to today and thankfully the swelling has gone down a bit, thanks in part to the tablets but I also like to think I helped by being brave and squeezing the tooth myself a couple of times….. eeeeek! Lots of other things to tell you but have to go and get my head down – big day tomorrow!


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