So, I'm just back from visiting the man charged with extracting my troublesome wisdom teeth. It's on for next week. Friday 7.30am. I don't mind revealing that I'm more than a little nervous, not least because I went in there expecting to discuss the two teeth that were coming out. But no, apparently I just have far too much wisdom and he's going in for a third. Yeiks!
The quite delightful oral surgeon enthusiastically explained, that although, to date, the tooth hadn't actually broken the gum and was therefore not yet causing me trouble, it surely would. So I would either be back in a year or two or he could do the whole job lot next week. I can categorically confirm that I won't be inflicting a second tooth surgery on myself in the not too distant future so with a sense of resignation I told him to just take the lot.
Then came the matter of my general health. "Good" enthused I, "though I woke up with a bit of a cold this morning", I added through blocked nose and sniffles. This seems to be a problem. So now I'm on penicillin from Tuesday so I'll be in tip top condition for the horrors of the surgery. If I have a sore throat, cough or temperature, it's not happening.
I believe however, that the lovely man is less concerned about the current state of my health than he is about the fact I plan to hop on a plane to London a week after the extraction and hen it up again - roller-disco style! This worries him - to the point that he suggested whipping the teeth out on Monday instead. But then he remembered the cold and we were once again back to Friday.
Oh the trials and tribulations. At least his lovely secretary told me I looked far younger than I am. One positive to take away from the morning.
God I'm shitting myself...
No comments:
Post a Comment