 |
| An image from 1300s (A.D.) England depicting a dentist extracting a tooth with forceps. (Photo credit: Wikipedia) |
The saga started last year when I woke in the night noticing what felt like hard crumbs in my mouth. I headed for the bathroom and realised with horror that one of my molars was crumbling!
I mentioned it to my GP who I happened to be seeing the next day anyway and she blamed menopause, did a test to confirm I was turning into a shrivelled old hag and promptly stuck me on HRT.
So, that would be me, always and forever madmumof7 never madmumof8, 9 or 10 I realised sadly.
The tooth crumbling halted and stupidly I ignored it. I am terrified of dentists, it wasn't bothering me or hurting and eating wasn't a problem.
Of course, it's never as simple as that and a few weeks ago my face started to
hurt. Two doctors diagnosed sinusitis and I endured weeks of pain and two courses of antibiotics which seemed to clear it briefly before it came back with a vengeance.
My old friend Fibromyalgia Syndrome loves nothing better than a combination of cold weather and illness to play up so I was left in pain, exhausted and at points back to square one unable to walk more than a few steps.
 |
| Medieval dentist removing tooth (Photo credit: Wikipedia) |
More antibiotics were prescribed and an appointment for a check up planned -then a plan to extract the tooth was agreed on. But just two days later the infection flared up worse than before and I bombed back down the motorway for my fourth lot of antibiotics before the extraction the next day.
I was in pain, face swollen, with pus-filled pustule on my gums resembling some stage make-up artists finest hour. I won't start on the taste in my mouth. Apologies to those reading this before or during eating!
Not saying I was scared but I took up my priest's offer to go with me to the appointment. Luckily she didn't wear her collar - might have been a bit off-putting for other cowards in the waiting room.
And those of you who know me will not think it that odd that whilst dressing that morning I lingered over my choice of undies - so convinced was I that I would have a stroke or heart attack and die I chose nice lingerie so I would look fab for the resuscitation team/undertaker.
 |
| English: Priscilla Queen of the Dessert drag queen homage on Fire Island (Photo credit: Wikipedia) |
But of course the whole thing went without a hitch, with very little pain or even discomfort and was over and done with in half an hour. I danced out high on painkillers and adrenalin and sent a text to my eldest son to say he would not have to sort out a lurex bodysuit, wig and false lashes for a while - I was alive!
Apologies to all those who have to listen to me whine about the pain for the last few weeks. And thanks to all who helped out while I was ill. Thanks to Inspire Dental Care in Rickmansworth who gave me an NHS place and restored my faith in dentists. And thanks to Val Wood who inspired the title - even though it took me a while to get it. 2.30. Say it out loud. Ah!
