Vanlife is popping up with all sorts of pains in the arses lately. The other month it was the doctors chucking me off their list because I didn't have a fixed abode. I used my daughters as a care of address that was outside their catchment area so struck me off. Today, it was the woe of the tooth doctor. Toothache or tooth pain or tooth hell is one of the worst pains one can have. Now if you've been following my blog for some time you'll know that my life revolves around pain. But pain in the face from toothache? I'd rather stuff wasps up my arse than deal with that!
It all started Sunday when I took a bit fat bite out of an mahoosif Aero Caramel bar. I'd had a pain in the tooth area for a few months but it had subsided somewhat, either that or I had subconsciously readjusted my pain threshold accordingly like a superhero. Or supervillain. Anyway, I took a bite and immediately felt like Apollo 9 had landed on my face with all engines on full reverse thrust! Fuck me, I've never felt anything like it! After I managed to get up off the floor, I inspected the inside of my food cave to see what the hell was going on and there it was. A filling-less tooth with half the side missing and little pink things in the bottom that were the nerves. I wanted to be sick but I was too busy crying.
I had to wait until Monday to call the gnasher wizard, but it also occured to me that I didn't actually have one. I phoned many places from the interweb whom all claimed to run an emergency service. But their idea of emergency isn't exactly the same as mine. Emergency to me is the need to be tended to immediately not "Yes sir, we can see you next Thursday?" Next Thursday? What do you mean next Thursday? It's Monday today so you're talking about eleven fucking days away? Like it's no big deal? "I'm sorry" I replied calmly, "I'm afraid I will be dead by then for I will have murdered myself in the face with the round end of a spoon".
I called 111 after Kerry said that's what her dad did and got seen pronto, but of course, after 19 days on hold "due to the current pandemic" all of the available appointments were gone and "please call back tomorrow morning at 8 o'clock sharp to see if we can get you seen". Fine. No choice really I guess. I mean it's only pain after all, and pain never really killed anyone did it. Although I am willing to bet on my guinea pigs life that people have died as a direct result of pain, in that the person in pain gets so agitated they kill...
8am comes around eventually and the call is made. 8 years on hold in the queue and my hopes are beginning to get somewhat dashed. Eventually, after 3 shaves and a poo, the queue has ended and my call has been answered! A tooth doctor has been found and would you believe it, just 0.3 miles away! Although I had already phoned this establishment myself the previous day, I refrained from saying owt. Then all I had to do was wait for the actual place to call me with a time, although my slot for the day was guaranteed.
I pull up to the surgery in a space right outside the entrance and make my entrance. It's a private surgery and very glorious too! I almost wanted to go back out and don some smarter clothes to remake my entrance! I go through the usual "I don't have a postcode" and "No, no address. No I'm houseless not homeless" routine with the gestapo at the front desk and get told to take a seat.The tooth doctor calls me to the dungeon and after many questions about my manky tooth she gets to work extracting it. I opted for extraction over root canal work because well £900. An hour later and half of the tooth firmly still in place, the other half on the surgical table, she admits defeat. Despite having most of the dungeons reserve of Lignocaine injected into my cake hole to numb it, the pain is excruciating! I mean I'm ready to murder my own face. So, I'm sent away for a return visit tomorrow at 4pm for surgery, where she'll cut a flap in the gum, drill the jaw bone away to get the rest of the tooth out and stitch the flap back again.
But right now, I want to tear my own face off. I am in absolute agony and I am only consoled by the fact that I'm at Kerry's home and she is doing a wonderful job of putting up with me crying, moaning and generally being an imbecile. Thank you Kerry x
I must go now, as I can taste blood. Again. And the morphine I had in the van from my last pancreatic attack is starting to make me feel even more of a mess..