We pulled into the car park way ahead of my 8.30 appointment, and my husband jokingly said he couldn’t see the tanker delivering the gallons of anaesthetic I was likely to need for my extractions today.
Armed with my X-ray from last week, I went into the surgery, which for eight o’clock in the morning was surprisingly busy. Bang on time, he called me in and got me settled in the chair. He had an indepth study of my X-ray, and all is not good. Describing the abscessed tooth as ‘prognosis hopeless’, he worked his way along the black and white minstrel show whilst his assistant typed the details as dictated onto my file.
In short, I have a loss of bone mass, which is not uncommon in people with diabetes (I’m type 2) . The tooth next to the loose wisdom tooth is now ‘on watch’ together with my crown from the 1980s and another dodgy largely filled tooth on the other side. The little bit of good news is that my front teeth seem to be OK, so I can still do impressions of a rabbit on The Green Diet as biting anything hard could well be detrimental (or should I say detri-dental) to my remaining gnashers.
All this is explained to me as he waited for the numbs to go numb, I mean gums to go numb. I didn’t feel a thing when the top one came out apart from a tingling in my nose, though he apologised if it felt like he was attacking my cheek. He promised he was only removing the tooth, and all through the procedure he was reasssuring, considerate and handing me tissues to wipe my sweating palms. The bottom one was a bit more of a problem, as not only did I have to lie almost horizontal, but I needed another dose of the magic stuff which took a while to kick in. That done, it came out with just a little bit of protestation, but it lost the battle just the same.
I asked if either were worth 10p from the Tooth Fairy, then added that as they were wisdom teeth, I should get at least a pound each. No chance, I had to fork out nearly fifty quid, but then you can’t put a price on health and being pain free can you.
As my mouth felt like I’ve the gobstopper from hell wedged in my cheek, I’m given a sheet of instructions for the next 72 hours and a spare pack of wadding in case it’s needed should the bleeding continue for more than half an hour. I am lucky in that I usually heal well and fast.
My Dentist is a lovely man. It doesn’t matter that he’s married, and so am I, but I love my Dentist. Really.
My husband was at my side when I said so. He, like my Dentist, understands. The fact that I was still full of anaesthetic and slightly unsteady on my feet didn’t really enter into it.
pensitivity101 