Of dentists and downbeatness
22.07.09, 8:53 pm

See, everything was fine when I wrote my last entry, with the whole wonderful Passing The Theory Test vibe. And then I randomly decided to brush my teeth before going to James�s house, and whilst idly examining them in the mirror, mid-brush, noticed that one of the molars had turned a weird (read: horrible) brown colour. Yes, it had been hurting when I chewed on it for a while, but I figured it was just sensitive, and had even bought some Sensodyne toothpaste to try and fix it. And no, I hadn�t been to the dentist in over 6 years, owing to not being registered anywhere and not being able to afford it (read: not wanting to).

Anyway, cue spiralling worry attack about the tooth, which I had to try and hide as I had to spend the weekend being nice to James�s parents, when all I wanted to do was sit on my bed and rock and think about my poor diseased tooth. I managed to get through the weekend with only minor obsessing, and then found myself in the waiting room of a private dentist first thing on Monday morning (only NHS dentist in the area predicted an 8-week wait before an appointment. No thanks, my tooth is BROWN). Long and the short is, I had a wee cavity that�d gone up into the dentine and then BALLOONED, and had been a hair�s breadth from my nerve. That�s now been drilled out (mmm numb mouth, not recommended for social functioning of any kind) and I have some weird cement stuff in, to give my inflamed nerve time to calm down. I then have to go back next Monday to have the filling put in. Apparently, I was about a month away from having to have excruciating root canal surgery, which indeed is what my initial worry spiral generally revolved around. And the moral of this story is, GO TO THE GODDAMN DENTIST.

So yeah, that�s been a bit crappy (not least on the bank balance), but all�s well that ends well. And apparently I have a great set of teeth, bar the crap one, so yay for that. I�ve been instructed to book my practical test, so that�s going to be happening sometime in the beginning of September. I am going to be beyond nervous for that; I feel a bit ill just thinking about it now. It also doesn�t help that I�ll have been shunted off to Scotland for the week before for the holiday in the lighthouse with the Boy family.

Apparently I�m playing cricket tomorrow night with work, though the forecast is dire. None of us can play cricket; we�re blatantly going to turn up, bumble about for thirty minutes and then get pissed at the bar, which is being specially opened for us. I then have Nicole and Becky�s graduation on Friday (BMedSci students), where everyone from work is planning on turning up to and getting pissed again. I�m meant to have stopped drinking during the week but it doesn�t seem to be happening � I�m sat here with a glass of wine as we speak.

Have to ring my father in a second and find out how the holiday to Eastbourne with Amadroid and male sproglet has gone. I rang just before they went away, and my dad said, quote, �Yes, we�re... ah, we�re feeling a bit downbeat about the holiday, but I�m sure it�ll be fine.� That�s what you want, a nice downbeat holiday. He�s doing my nut at the moment, not least because every time I ring he�s either grumpy, drunk or both.

Big reunion next weekend with all the old housekids. YAY! On an unrelated note, Becky�s husband�s brother has had a horrific car accident, and is now in hospital with severe spinal injuries. I texted her yesterday to ask how he was doing, and got this reply:

�...Matt�s okay, dr�s told him he may not walk again and will be in a wheelchair, but he also recommitted his life to Jesus the same day, so we are all confident of his full healing. We�re praying for sooner rather than later! Xx.�

If God actually cared, he surely wouldn�t have let the crash happen in the first place. I�m just saying. And I�m pretty sure that all the terminal cancer sufferers, praying right now in their thousands, would like to be healed too. I love Becky a massive, massive amount, and I hope that�s apparent to everyone, but sometimes her interventionalist God beliefs make no sense whatsoever.

More wine time.

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