The Best Laid Plans.

Oh dear. As you may have noticed I have failed in my aim to write one new blog a week but, honest, I have a really, really good excuse. I could get my Mum to write a note and everything.

Last Friday, when I was intending to write my blog (really, I’m not just saying it) I woke up with the most unbelievable pain both in the top and bottom of the right side of my jaw and in both ears too, for good measure. Now things have been stressful in my family of late, we lost my wonderful Grandma suddenly, and I assumed that maybe I had been clenching my jaw and that had caused the pain. I spent the day clutching hot water bottles to my face and taking paracetamol, much to the delight of he-who-was-daft-enough-to-marry-me, who spent the day coming up with various names for this new fashion I was starting! I was pretty sure with the heat, the drugs and me consciously relaxing my jaw things would get better but they didn’t. By Saturday all I wanted to do was cry. On Sunday I was leading the youth work at Church and the book club in the evening, both of which were interesting, to say the least. Monday things got no better, although the pain seemed to be settling more in the lower jaw but still didn’t seem to be related to any particular tooth.

Now I can hear those of you brave enough to read this far yelling at me, asking why I didn’t call the dentist and it is a very sensible question. The truth is I’m terrified of the dentist and whilst I could convince myself it was merely muscular I could hope it would rectify itself without the dreaded dentist (they always seem far too happy to be drilling, injecting and prodding me with sharp things for my liking).

Anyway Tuesday morning was different, Tuesday came with a very high temperature and the shivers and Wednesday saw me sleep fitfully between paracetamol, hot water bottles and shivering. I gave up. Even I couldn’t deny I had an infection and now the pain in my jaw had changed, it seemed to be concentrated on a golf ball sitting under one of my molars. Darn! I’d have to phone the dentists. I have never liked dentists but, in our previous house, I did find one I liked and went, religiously (well there was a lot of praying involved anyway) every six months but then we moved. I did go once but needed two fillings replaced which took over an hour of almost constant drilling so I never went back. Understandable I think, for a coward like me. Anyway my friend recommended her dentist and so, under her watchful eye, I called, expecting to get an appointment sometime in June but no, the lovely receptionist said they could fit me in at 11am the very next day. Oh good, I thought. Honestly.

So off I went, the receptionist was lovely although she had decided my name was Hellena Friebold, my mouth was swollen though so I have to let her off. I filled in the medical history form, if only so they’d be able to spell my name correctly, waited a few minutes too nervous to even pick up one of the many magazines on offer, and then the moment I had been dreading, the nurse called my name and led me up the stairs to the dentist’s room.

The dentist herself was, I guess, in her late 20s and she was lovely. She asked me how I’d been feeling, took some X-rays then explained in very simple language what had been going on. Apparently the vicious drilling of my previous appointment for the replacement fillings had caused my poor little nerves some trauma and this can lead to the debilitating pain I had been experiencing when an infection occurs, which is what had happened. She said she would give me antibiotics and I had to make a decision about what I wanted to do next. She explained the three options I have, which, in case you’re interested, are 1) do nothing, but then I will have recurrences of pain so, you’ll be pleased to hear, I’ve already discounted that one 2) take the tooth out 3) root canal treatment and then a crown. Isn’t it funny how some decisions are easier than others?!

So here I sit, the antibiotics have kicked in and I am feeling better than I have done all week so much better that the thought – ah, I didn’t write my blog – passed through my mind. Sorry this is such a hypochondriac blog, I’ll try not to do it again, but I hope it has given you at least a little smile, if not a laugh.

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