Fuck me, I hadn’t realised it had been so long…

I can’t be arsed to go “well this is what I’ve been doing”, because what I’ve been doing is about as interesting as watching a documentary devoted entirely to people driving to the shops.

I have however, developed an exciting new medical condition, and let’s face it: That’s really why you’re all here.

I had my tooth out in October (probably, I’m not sure I was actually even participating in the latter part of last year because I can’t remember a thing about it. Work, you see, has destroyed what was left of my mind after that year in Leeds) and it was, frankly, longer than Rip Van Winkle’s champion snooze. In fact, the dentist had to break part of my jaw to get the vile bugger out. I should point out here that the tooth had to come out due to a financial issue, viz I couldn’t afford the three hunnerd quid for root canal, and not due to any hideous oral hygiene issues which I should be ashamed of. Just saying, in case anyone thinks that I have teeth like something walking down a Sunderland back alley offering fifty pence a go. So long tooth comes out. Infection, or "dry socket" as it is somewhat cryptically known, follows. Mostly, I might as well admit, because I wasn’t about to stop smoking for anything less than a miraculous pregnancy. So, my own fault...

Or was it??

*tension music a la The Apprentice or something*

It turns out, after two lots of sinusitis and a couple of visits to the dental hospital, that my tooth, my tooth, was lodged happily in my sinus cavity for twenty years before its untimely departure into the real world and subsequently under my pillow. (I’m still waiting, you unreliable cow – and it had better be worth it.)

So, I now have a lovely, smooth, well-healed tunnel running from my mouth (the side I chew, of course, it would have to be, this is me) directly into my sinus. I have since been on three courses of anti-biotics (the kind that make you puke and have to drink several Actimels a day in order to prevent unthinkable evils possibly in the pant area) and will “probably” have to have a bone graft in my face. That’s In. My. Face.

Could you please take a moment to reflect on how one person can have so, so much wrong with them, to the point where a simple tooth can be welded into their nasal cavities and therefore grant them the power to sneeze remnants of their lunch out after twenty minutes? Oh, and you should have seen me try to blow up a balloon the other day – can you imagine how distressing my work mates found it when the air came rushing out of my nose? Inexplicably, seemingly more distressing than I found it.

And the best part is that I have to wear a fucking gum shield all the time which not only reaches the parts other humiliations cannot by making me look like Kurt Angle, but also brings the pain more subtly in my new unwavering resemblance when attempting to communicate to the beaver off Winnie The Pooh. (Thanks “BF”Emma, for that confidence-boosting analogy.) Have I worn it constantly as directed? Have I fanny. But I have to go back on Friday to see the specialist (The students were almost pissing themselves in excitement when I went in the first time  - their usual fare consisting mostly of charvers with teeth knocked out in fights and people won’t pay for a toothache to be looked at until an abscess forms which actually eats away half of their faces) and I know for a fact I can’t garner enough wear and tear on the thing to convince them otherwise. Knackers. I’m going to get wrong, aren’t I?

Still, at least I’m not bald.

But I am now frantically touching every wooden surface within reach to ensure that this does NOT happen.

Oh, and I have a boyfriend. But you probably guessed as much, didn’t you? He’s a lucky bugger: “Well MY girlfriend wears a gumshield and can shoot chicken korma out of her nose, and in three months’ time will almost certainly resemble Kojak thanks to her inability to keep her mouth shut and stop tempting fate…”

Good job he’s pragmatic.

Laters.

xx