A Little Less Wisdom

So, one horror is over at least. The (now confirmed) Wisdom Tooth has been extracted.

After a long train journey and a ridiculously long cab journey I arrived (just on time) at the Fylde Coast Primary Care Trust which smelled just like a hospital (ugh), filled in a form and then was told to wait. The painkillers I had taken earlier were wearing off and Mum (yes, I took my Mum) was doing her best to distract me, but the fact that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime was starting to make itself evident - good laugh about the rumbling.

Anyway.

A quick x-ray showed that this was no ordinary tooth. It curled round at the end bending towards the nerve sack at the base of the jaw. This meant if the extraction went badly and the nerve sack was damaged I would lose feeling in some of my bottom lip. I smiled as sweetly as I could with the local anaesthetic they had already pumped into me, and asked them to not screw up. Then the pulling started. I mean, I couldn’t feel anything but I could tell by the fact that he kept saying ‘this is a bad angle’ and ‘this is a tough one’ that things were not going well.

Loose feeling in my bottom lip? What would that mean? Would I become a terminal dribbler? Would I not be able to speak properly? Because I really like talking… These were the thoughts running hrough my head as he said ‘done’ and moved away.

The nurse/assistant packed a load of gauze in to stem the bleeding and started telling me all the do’s and don’s (luckily they come written down because I wasn’t really listening). Then she asked if I wanted to keep it? Hell, yes! she said something along the lines of that’s one for the trophy cabinet but all I was thinking was ‘that’s one for the blog’. So here it is.

The cause of so much pain… with the curly bottom.

My tooth.

Evil little bastard.