Ground down

It's a standing joke among some family and friends that I take a long time to eat anything. I enjoy food – there is little better than savouring a delicious meal and talking to someone, or several people, over the experience, for a few leisurely hours preferably. But my eating speed has slowed. This is due to fractures running the course of several molars. Years of gnashing my teeth at night (and clenching my jaw by day) are taking their toll. It doesn't matter what I eat; it is a painful process. 

I had a large tooth, which had cracked and broken, removed a few years ago (if you're interested, the relevant posts are all labelled 'teeth'). My latest trip to the dentist revealed more damage, this time to the opposite side of my mouth, and I wasn't surprised. When I eat, my mouth hurts. When I don't eat, my mouth hurts. My dentist has referred me for hospital treatment, or at least a consultation. I really hope they can sort my teeth out... I know people's teeth fall out and all that, but the fact that this is happening to me reminds me of why I grind my teeth – old stress levels that have done this. Things that, frankly, I don't want to think about any more. 

Lalalalalala

I wriggled my toes, focused on softening my shoulders and tried to regulate my breathing. But I still found it difficult to totally relax as the dentist pierced my gum four times with his long, thin hypodermic needle. This thing was longer than my (quite long) hand. It glistened.

After the trauma of my recent tooth extraction and ensuing infection and disgusting antibiotic treatment, I can't say I was terribly eager to visit the dentist, who is a nice chap, but not one you want to see too often, especially when he has metal implements to hand. Anyway, it was OK. The process was uncomplicated enough but the noises rendered the simplicity complicated.

I wondered what I was meant to be thinking of as he prodded, poked, bleeped, crunched and, of course, drilled. I started by thinking about people who can withstand surgery thanks to their strong minds alone, eschewing anaesthetic, the crazies. It didn't help that the words driller killer ran through my head. That started images of hydraulic drills used by people who dig roads. Road diggers. That wasn't helpful.

Once the fillings were in place, I wiped my seemingly nerveless face with a couple of tissues, my mouth drooping slightly, paid and left. My next visit will be to the hygienist. Surely that will not involve blood and needles. Hmm.

The root of the matter

Yeah, well, my gum was infected. What with the recent health sagas of late, you'd never have predicted that, eh?

I put up with the pain for a week and secured an appointment at the dentist's on Tuesday. My boss was sweet – she let me leave work nice and early, so much so that I had time to collect my car so that I could get there with ease. She was probably also worried that I looked dreadfully pained and was somewhat odd as far as the new members of staff were concerned. I can't say I was at my most conversational but they seemed to understand.

So, dentist prods around, uses a jet cleaner thing to deep clean the wound and says he can a) see the tail-end of an infection (I was right! I knew that pain was abnormal!) and b) that he could 'see the bone'. *faint* Did he have to tell me that? I mean.

He stuffed some soluble dressing in the hole and prescribed antibiotics. Now, you'd think that would be that. It would be for others. But no. No, no. The antibiotics made me feel faint, nauseas, deeply tired and my stomach was puffed up like a balloon. I lost my appetite, which was a relief, as trying to eat while in pain had been terribly difficult. I couldn't exercise at all this week. I had no energy.

Anyway, I took the stuff for the rest of the week and was glad to take the last of the bitter pills today. The pain went after a couple of days, thank goodness, so it was worth the side-effects. I can just about brush the areas either side of the gum to clean a bit more thoroughly now, too. I like a fresh mouth.

The huge difficulty, however, is that this tooth saga has been stress-induced. I am beginning to realise that, actually, I do have a lot on my plate. It was when S sadly shook his head and said how awful it was that I had had to have a molar removed due to stress-related teeth-grinding that it hit home pretty hard. I don't mean that in a self-indulgent way, but seriously, I need to sort out the tangled source of my stresses – and the way I handle the (very) tough stuff. It's critical.

Dancing and pain (again)

My mouth is still hurting. Stillllllll... Ow. S and friends who have had teeth out say it isn't unusual that it is still hurting after Monday's extraction. So, instead of heading to A&E this weekend, I have put up with a throbbing jaw.

I was tempted to miss a birthday party on Friday night due to the mouth situation but went along anyway. S and I first went to visit a friend who lives on the same street as the pub at which the party was held, had cake and tea, and settled in very nicely in his warm flat. We didn't want to leave – it was so comfortable and outside was very, very cold – but we thought we should show our faces and dragged ourselves off his leather sofas.

The party was literally one of those occasions where you start off by thinking you'll stay for half an hour and then sidle off, but turned into a brilliant night, where you get to bed at 2am. The birthday boy, who was 40, played the guitar to one song and asked us all to get up and dance (he is in a band). It was excellent.

I haven't danced for months – possibly a year – and I loved it. Two of my friends from kung fu, V, and J, were also there. We laughed a lot and V and I had an obligatory play-fight, which amused the men. It was funny, though, to hear that I have a reputation among my friends for being 'most fearsome' when I spar. You wouldn't think so to look at me! I find it funny but secretly encouraging. I overheard two of my classmates talking about me while I was putting on my sparring gear in the week – they said 'Mel D's sparring, yeah, blimey we had better watch out'... I feel like I am in the Truman Show; it can't be me they're on about. Can it?

I had a couple of flutes of champagne and that was that for me (I didn't want any more than that) and did sleep well, but was exhausted yesterday, due to the ongoing blasted pain. I'm finding it rather tedious.

Forceps... clamp...

I thought I was going in for a filling. But no. The dentist said that today was the day for my tooth extraction. I had been nervous enough at the prospect of being drilled and filled, so was shaking by the time he had administered the two injections. I sat in the blond-wood waiting room, trying to interest myself in the magazine covers on the rack, and waited until it kicked in.

The nurse called me back after 10 minutes – I was convinced that surely this could not be enough time. After all, I was still walking, shaking, able to speak...

So, I sit in the large chair, am covered with the blue apron, don a pair of orange plastic safety goggles and am told to open wide. I did so, trying to concentrate on my breathing, my toes, the radio, and not on the dentist's requests for 'clamp', 'forceps', 'suction' and so on.

My tooth didn't want to be parted from me. It dug its roots in, the poor tooth, and gave the dentist a hard time. Now, following my experience of hearing my skin snipped away when I had the lump removed from my armpit earlier this year, I can add the sensation of having a long piece of my skull yanked out to my catalogue of 'things I'd rather not feel/hear, thanks very much'.

He said: 'Oh, stubborn tooth', and carried on putting what felt like his body weight on my jaw to steady it. 'Keep your head still,' he said. Hmmm. I'm afraid I couldn't do that, not while having it gripped from within and without. Just wasn't happening.

Anyway, out it came eventually, my mouth's equivalent of childbirth, with a bone-crunching whoosh and lots of blood (which I couldn't feel on my face but the nurse mopped up for me). I then bit down on wadding, which I was scared to take out for two hours, and tried not to throw up as I walked to my car and then drove to Sainsbury's to buy soft food. The cashier understood my tooth-out mime and sympathised as I paid. I mumbled back.

It is throbbing. THROBBING. And I won't even get any cash from the tooth fairy. Pah.

Teeth

I have been clenching my teeth in my sleep. This has meant I often wake with headaches and a jaw so tight that I must open and close it to release the muscles of my neck and face.

One of my teeth has died. This is because I grind my teeth, and a chunk of a molar broke off a few months ago.

It is a stress-related thing. Stress has killed one of my lovely teeth.