This month, however, I have been exceptionally brave, and I have tackled the nacked tooth problem head on - booking 3 appointments with a local dentist who promised she'd sort it out. She explained at length what she was going to do. She even gave me a 'treatment plan,' typed out beautifully so that I would understand exactly what she planned to do with my poor tooth. Trouble was, during her detailed and kindly explanation, the voices in my head drowned her out 'LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!' and the treatment plan got hoyed on top of the microwave under all the other crap that lives on top of the microwave.
I didn't want to know what she was going to do. I just wanted her to fix it.
At the first appointment, she gave me an injection then set about digging and drilling. She didn't say a word, but through the trendy sunglasses they now give you I could see and hear all sorts of weird and wonderful tools working away on my tooth. I'm sure I saw a needle and thread, and then something scadding hot went past my nose - I thought I was going to be branded - smoke came out of my mouth and I'm sure I heard a sizzling noise - what the hell was all that about?!
This morning I was due back for round 2 of the 'treatment plan.'
I lay back in the chair, and she switched the spotlight on. She loomed over me with mask and headtorch. I wanted to shout - 'I'll tell you everything! It was me! I pushed William off his bike in 1972!' ......but I didn't. I don't think she would have laughed. The little helper wore a welding mask. I suddenly wasn't feeling too good about what was to come.
I lay in that chair for ONE WHOLE HOUR. Once again, she didn't speak to tell me what was happening. But as far as I was concerned, in my mouth went the following - (and not all at the same time I might add)
The nozzle of a Henry hoover
A staple gun,
A Moulinex hand blender,
Some hockey gum shields,
A bucket full of playdough (I thought the little helper was making a cake),
and a full assortment of drills with different levels of squealy, whiney noises.
I had to concentrate so hard not to 'gag' on the playdough-filled gum shields, and when she finally finished, I was handed a damp tissue to clean my face which was covered in pink stuff. I would have preferred to have been handed a big glass of Southern Comfort on the rocks, but again, I thought I'd better not ask for that.
It was HELL.
All through this torturous experience, I kept trying to do a Maria von Trapp - and think of my favourite things whilst the dog bit and the bee stung. But whiskers on kittens and schnitzel with noodles just didn't do it for me today. Not even a thought of garlic prawns and sparkly wine could make it any better.
I left the surgery feeling quite traumatised. Two rounds down and one to go...and I still don't know exactly what she's done to my tooth! NOOOO! DON'T tell me! LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!