It would appear the chocolate brazils have also had their revenge on my hubby. For a few weeks, he’s been asking me when our next dental check up is. Knowing his memory is sometimes approaching that of a goldfish, I thought little of it until he finally confessed that he had been suffering from intermittent toothache.
I can sympathise, big time, after my episode a short while ago. However, Hubby is one for putting on a brave face, whereas if there is anything in the slightest wrong with me, he gets over anxious, reaching for the painkillers and ready to tuck me up in bed (it’s wonderful to be loved though).
With Christmas just around the corner and him having a major problem on Boxing Day several years ago, I told him to forget the macho bit, make an appointment and get it sorted.
Unlike me having to wait a week, he was able to get to see our dentist the same day (it must be a man thing) . Sure enough, the crowned molar had to come out. There is just one itsy bitsy problem with any form of surgery. Hubby is a bleeder. This is due to permanently being on blood thinning medication, so an extraction had to be planned.
An appointment was made for the 10th of January, though he was put on the emergency list with a promise that they would give him at least 2 days notice. Sure enough, an appointment became free last Thursday at 5pm so he had time to modify his dosage accordingly.
When he came out of the surgery, his face was like a lopsided chipmunk, most of which was nothing to do with wadding on the wound. He could hardly talk, so we were communicating with hand signals. Actually, sign language is not one of his skills, though from the recent hoo-haa about the sign interpreter at Mandela’s remembrance service, Hubby could have done a better job. The thrusting of his wallet into my hand indicated I was to settle up as he went back to the car.
He felt OK to drive, but was obviously very quiet on the journey home. About 400 yards from our drive, suddenly the fingers came up with a walking motion and quick nod of the head towards the back seat suggested we were going to walk the dog before going home. This made perfect sense as it meant we could then settle down for the evening.
With instructions to change the wadding after half an hour if necessary (actually changed twice) , not to eat or drink for at least 2 hours, and not to touch the wound for 72, meals were limited. Conversation between us consisted of a variety of grunts, snorts and ‘hms’, but I understood that he didn’t want anything to eat, water instead of tea or anything hot, and he intended to go to bed early.
He had a terrible night, tingling in his tongue, itchy nose, and a permanent drool. Each time I got comfy, he’d shift and I’d have to start again. The dog was equally restless, and I think it was well after midnight before I eventually heard soft snoring in stereo.
The following day, he was still suffering, though not with toothache, just the uncomfortable after effects. He wanted to compare notes as to how long it took for my mouth to feel ‘normal’ and I had to admit it was more or less as soon as the anaesthetic had worn off. I’m really lucky in that I heal quickly, and on the third day, apart from slight indentations in my gums, you would never have known teeth had been there.
Not so Hubby. Three days on he is still tender, but at least the swelling has gone down and the gaping hole has a clot in it, so is on the way to healing. He is back on his medication OK and scrambled eggs have never tasted so good. Hopefully things will settle down within a week.