Distance makes extraction difficult
I’m very glad my columns are professionally proof read, particularly this week as there is a good chance this column may not make sense.
I’m currently taking painkillers after a tooth extraction and they are making me a bit dopey (well, dopier than usual!).
My tooth started playing up last weekend, which is typical. Any form of illness or accident tends to strike when services are closed.
I managed for about three days before I started looking for a dentist. I found the dentist would be in Meekatharra the following week but wasn’t sure I would survive that long. Next best option was a Newman dentist, who could fit me in Thursday.
Wednesday morning I’d had enough so rang the Newman dentist back to find the Thursday appointment was gone. Argh!
After some discussion they offered me a 3pm appointment that day. Thank goodness for my son who gave up his day to drive the 600km round trip — I certainly couldn’t have done it.
By the time I arrived at the dentist I was ready for as many injections as I could get — anything to stop that damned throbbing. It was like the tooth had a pulse of its own.
The dentist had to ascertain exactly which tooth was the problem. I think she knew which one it was when I left claw marks on the ceiling after she tapped it with her little hammer.
I had the option of a root canal treatment involving several appointments plus having to replace the crown, or having it removed.
Knowing the difficulties of setting up appointments at particular time spaces, I opted to get rid of the tooth.
The tooth wasn’t particularly keen to leave me, even though I had mentioned several times that I was quite happy for it to p… off anytime soon. But, with much tugging, pulling, breaking and a few more injections it finally gave up and was out.
Even with all the anaesthetic I had, the pain in my mouth was still giving me a lot of grief.
A quick stop at the chemist for drug supplies, which I started on right away, and we were on our way home.
Now it’s a case of the tooth socket healing, my face returning to normal — instead of looking like I’ve gone two rounds with Mike Tyson — and hopefully no more damned toothaches for a long time.
’I think she knew which one it was when I left claw marks on the ceiling after she tapped it with her little hammer.’