Seasonal because it happened four Christmases ago. Same tooth.
But my, my, my, how I have grown. Four years ago found me deep in disbelief that a couple of days of ibroprofen wouldn’t get rid of a sore tooth. When the infection reached my throat - on Christmas Eve, of course - I visited the doctor, not the dentist, got told it was viral and sent home to sit it out.
Oh pain. My theory is that toothache hurts so ruddy much because the tooth is relatively near the brain, so a tooth pain whisper sounds like a shout. Not that an abscess whispers.
Christmas day was spent pale and sideways. It was a poor, sorry sight that whimpered her pathetic arse to the emergency docs on Boxing Day four years ago. Antibiotics were finally dispensed, by an emergency doc that knew damn well it was dental but pitied me so much she kindly diagnosed an infected salivary gland.
And the healing began. But not until I learned just how easy it was to vomit when you can only open your mouth by half an inch. Answer: it is not at all easy.
Anyway: but my, my, my, how I have grown. This year I made a large pot of lentil soup and phoned the dentist yesterday, as soon as I knew the toothache was only going to go one way. An emergency appointment was made for first thing this morning, and antibiotics prescribed. We’ve left the tooth to be sorted out the other side of Christmas. Best not to poke it.
So, I am in big, huge, shapely, mouth, neck and ear abscess-sized pain, but I have the stuff to shoot it down this side of Christmas day.
Leaving me wincing but able. Able to wrap and dispense and entertain and cook and all without a drop of rough tough and rollicking Christmas booze.
Oh, bollocks.
Things To Do
Cake:
Pressies:
Pressies from kids:
Cards:
Decorations:
Christmas dinner: yeah, right.
Booze:
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