One thing after another

There seems to have been a party in my mouth and I have not been invited.

After the brutal extraction of my wisdom tooth, things went from bad to worse. As I lay in bed feeling sorry for myself, I began to regret my decision to whip the bugger out. Initially, my Hamster face amused me and I quite liked my new spontaneous diet. However, this soon changed…. Rapidly.

Severe pain, tears, desperate cheek holding, tears, throbbing, very strong pain killers. Tears. DRY SOCKET. Tears. Tears. Tears. Apparently, only 1-3% of wisdom tooth extractions end in this horrendous fate. Of course, this was bound to happen to me. Excellent. Essentially, Dry Socket, (as well as sounding extremely unarousing) means that my poor, precious vulnerable nerves in my jaw bone were raw and open, waggling in the wind.

Typical. I found myself back in the emergency ‘Driving Seat’, crying uncontrollably whilst the dentist flushed and packed my ‘dry socket’. Nice.

As soon as that was over, B-Day loomed. It was time for my bottom brace. I got it yesterday. I feel like I want to rip my teeth out just to relieve the discomfort. The discomfort is severe. I had seemed to repressed the top brace pain. This is a horrible, nasty, unwelcome reminder. So tight and constant, it feels like it’s taken the sparkle out of my eye and I feel utterly deflated.

I know it will improve and I will soon get used to it, but at the moment Nelly the Elephant has packed her bags and SAT HER FAT ASS DOWN VERY HARD ON MY BOTTOM JAW.

WIS-DOOM

If anybody tells you that wisdom tooth extraction is painless/easy/a piece of cake. They’re lying to you. Lying through their (probably, perfectly formed) gritted teeth. Either that or i am a big baby. 

Ok, it is a know fact that I am a hypochondriac and once twisted my own half fractured little toe so that I would be the proud owner of crutches. (I didn’t get crutches). Still, it is a very unpleasant experience and one i should feel i should warn you of.

After dodging the dentist for many years, it appears there has been a lot going on in my mouth for many years without me noticing. The idiot that I am. After confronting the obvious, I thought it was sensible to get a thorough Mouth MOT.

It turns out my lower left wisdom tooth was impacted and was a “timebomb of pain”. FANTASTIC. Anything else? (probably). The dental nurse booked me in for a surgical removal. The removal was yesterday. I sit here, slumped, resembling a frowning lopsided hamster. Such an attractive 23 year old, in her prime, on a Friday night.

I opted for sedation. It took the consultant 4 attempts to get the cannula into my “wriggling” veins. Four attempts is actually quite a lot. Actually quite painful. One wisdom tooth out, three shiny colourful bruises in. 

By this time I was shaking quite a lot and the nurse thought it was necessary to bring in a huge blanket and tuck me in. Like a big giant bruised shaking hamster baby. 

The consultant squeezed the sedative juice into my vein and I felt very odd indeed. I tried to pretend I was fine. I clearly wasn’t. They made some remark about my odd socks (I was in a rush that morning), I remember trying to crack some hilarious joke but had to give up half way through because I was laughing too much. A new low?

They got to work. What happened is all a bit of a blur but if i lie silently then the cracking of bone and the faint drilling noise resonates in my head. I’m joking. Kind of.

It was done, I was untucked and guided to a room to wait for my Mother. There was an overweight lady in the ‘sedation recovery room’ with me. “whatcha in fer?” she asked. “ummm, one wisdom extraction” I replied, tentatively. “one? Thats nuffin. Try three!!!”. I felt like a cheat. She was clearly milking the whole thing and had a lot of bloody saliva bubbling out of her mouth. Normally, this would have been surreal enough but being sedated myself made it utterly bizarre.

I decided to escape and go to the loo. Except, I wasn’t allowed to go ‘unescorted’ so, before I knew it, I was trying to wee in front of a very awkward nurse. A new low. Naturally, I had stage fright and being sedated made everything seem like it took an hour instead of a minute. Except, i think it did actually take an hour. JESUS CHRIST.

Anyway, since this very traumatic ordeal I have been mostly feeling hugely sorry for myself. Mother took the nurses’ advice way too literally and hasn’t left me unattended for 24 hours. Very frustrating. I have eaten my way through lots of pain killers and antibiotics (to prevent infection). Without wanting to, my tongue finds itself exploring the new hole in my mouth. Guilty painful pleasure. The highlight of the past 29 hours is eating some tepid porridge.

So, i am 25% less wise and 100% more hamster like. Please, if you are getting a similar procedure... prepare yourself. Do not go to the loo in the hospital after the procedure and get your Mum to buy some porridge oats. You’re welcome!

Not just my problem

So, the time with my brace is ticking along nicely. Almost five whole months. I feel we are a pretty tight unit now and changes are to be seen.

It still amuses me when I acknowledge acknowledgements. There was a particularly eye-opening episode when I went to visit my sister recently. She has a male friend who is a perfectly formed human being from Dubai. He wouldn’t look out of place modelling Armani. And he knows it.

So, the Armani model is clearly highly image conscious, the type who would blatantly crane their neck to look for a designer label on your handbag. Or to be able to guess your perfume as he wafts past each cheek kissing loudly. The kind of person who genuinely thinks that each sentence should end with “Fabulous” or “Darling”. You know the type.

I knew, I just knew, he would acknowledge my brace vocally and publicly. Luckily, I braced myself (no pun intended).

 

We were having some drinks before a night out and he strutted into the room, instantly filling it with decadence. “MWAH MWAH, lovely to see you daahhhhhling!” Naturally, I obliged. 

He sat on the sofa. Legs crossed. Pinky finger pert. His eyes were wide, his moisturised lips pouted. I opened my mouth to relive an anecdote. As soon as I spoke, his pinky lost stiffness, one of his perfectly plucked eyebrow became raised, his mouth became slightly ajar. His finger flung rapidly into the air.

...

“Ummm DAHHHHLING” he exclaimed, “WHAT is with the retainer”?! There. Like that. Out loud. So publicly. Yet, oddly, so refreshing. The others squirmed in their seats, so typically British.

I laughed. Told him it wasn’t a retainer, instead a ceramic train track brace. His reaction was so honest and natural “OH WOW. You know, I rulllly rullllly admire that. I rulllly want to sort my teeth out but just don’t have the guts. It’s cute. FABULOUS”

And that was it, the elephant left my mouth for a while and it wasn’t mentioned again. In fact, his reaction mimicked others. I would say 8 people out of 10 mention their dissatisfaction with their teeth when my brace is spoken about. Surprisingly high. That alone makes me a little bit proud of my decision and my philosophy which goes with it. 

I cannot wait to celebrate properly, with my perfect smile.

Turmeric, do one

So, the turmeric war continues...

I decided that it would be a very good idea to fully embrace the “Friday feeling” with my mate Henry Weston. (Dangerously good, and exceedingly strong, cider).

After a night of dancing like I was Beyonce, Mr Weston has a habit of inducing severe delusion, and performing every party trick I knew… it was definitely time for bed.

I awoke, with one eye open, and before I could establish whether it was a weekend or not - the memories of the night before overcame me. I decided it would be a good idea to sleep it off, yet my foot kept twitching and every intention of snoozing was overcome by vivid imaginations of orange juice. Cold, endless supplies of the stuff. A gushing orange juice waterfall. I was dehydrated, hungover and PAP-ING (post alcohol paranoia).

Frustratingly, there was no trace of orange juice in the fridge. I sat, drinking the life out of a cup of tea. My beyonce days were over and my hips hurt from showing the male population how I could put both of my legs over my head. Serious PAP-ing.

Nothing soothes a hangover better than a bowl of supernoodles. Half food, half drink. They must be eaten noisily, messily and ideally – eaten alone. Mild curry was my super food of choice. I devoured them in a flash and slowly began to feel like me again.

It was only that afternoon, when I decided to look in the mirror, that I realised a familiar yellow twinge. YELLOW TWINGE. No. no. no.

I’d eaten a omelette at an Indian restaurant. Steered clear from any colourful food. Even resorted to drinking a glass of red wine with a straw!! Only to ruin it all with a quickie with mild curry supernoodles. Fuming.

What I did, I am not proud of. But it was something I considered completely necessary. I picked up a pin and sabotaged my own brace. Bad, I know. But… it meant I could go and visit my scary orthodontist and regain some dignity. It worked. Off with the terrible turmeric twinged elastics and on with the clears. I win.

Sure, I was pretty smug about it. It taught me two vital things. Firstly, my war with turmeric is not over. Secondly, I am never going to be able to shake my booty like Beyonce.

No more curry in a hurry!

I shall start this post with it’s point. 

If you have ceramic braces... then. please. AVOID. CURRY. Please.

I learnt the hard way.

I’m not a huge curry fan, I don’t get the fascination with it really. Especially the ridiculously hot stuff, all of those calories for a painful episode the day after (or, so I am told). Very hot, yet, so very not. 

Anyway, very occasionally, I am partial to a korma – or some other kind of creamy calorific creation. A few weeks ago, my friends felt they needed more quality time with their loo... and off to the Indian restaurant we trotted. Pardon the pun. 

None of us could pronounce the names of the dishes we ordered. We did the classic awkward order. Pointing to the name on the menu, trying to enunciate the name of the dish very slowly... willing for the waiter to finish off what you had false-started. Awkward western giggling.

It was not until the morning I noticed the damage. Initially I was pretty cool about it. It wasn’t until I checked the internet that I realised the stupid curry, which I didn’t even want, had given me more than just a thousand extra calories. A YELLOW BRACE.

The first website I looked at said “never eat curry with a ceramic brace”. Hindsight advice is extremely infuriating. I then proceeded to scrub my little yellow tin grin with; lemon juice, bicarbonate of soda, whitening toothpaste, salt. Believe me when i tell you that is a nasty tasting combination. And one that DOES NOT WORK. 

I just had to face the facts and learn my lesson. Tumeric is the bastard which paints the elastics. I honestly think that orthodontists should inform you of this. I am sure I am not the only victim out there?

And so, several weeks later, we returned. Yes, it was embarrassing and frustrating to order “a cheese omelette with chips” at an Indian restaurant, but very necessary. I am pretty sure the waiter shook his head and sighed. Inadvertently and without warning, I have become ‘one of those’. A fussy, uncultured customer. The elephant in my mouth appears to be ruling my palate now. Great. Still, on the bright side... at least I could pronounce my dish of choice with confidence.