Bad Mouth News conquered by Belief

Nearly two years ago now I had a really bad time with my mouth – endless chronic toothache, abscesses etc which led to a course of very expensive periodontal treatment to treat my gum disease.

Having parted with a Huge amount of money, I was set on the road to recovery – or stability, as once the damage has been done, you can't entirely reverse it. And I continued to brush my teeth, floss them and poke at bits with interdental sticks, three times a day. I went back for a 3 month check up in July and all was well. I was looking after my gums as I should, and I got a pat on the back. I also got a VAST bill for a 20 minute checkup.

I asked my NHS dentist (who suggested I should continue to see this private hygienist – doesn't say much for his hygienist) if he could recommend someone else as the private bunch are extortionately expensive. It's not just me that says that either. My dentist recommended another fellow and I'm waiting for an appointment to see him next week.

Last weekend I began to have twinges in my mouth. Bad ones. On Monday I realised my gums in front were inflamed and very sore. I went back to see Very Expensive hygienist yesterday who confirmed that my gums were in a Bad Way. She said that I'd “slipped” with brushing them. “I haven't,” I said, with my mouth wide open, stung with injustice. “But I was concentrating on the teeth at the back that are the problem ones, and forgot the front ones.”

She looked at me then and said, “have you had a lot of stress recently?”

I thought back – it's been quite a year, emotionally. “Yes,” I said. “Menopause, insomnia, financial worries.”

When I got to insomnia she nodded. “That'll be it,” she said. “Your gums are your weak spot and if you're under a lot of stress, unless you're really careful, they'll suffer.”

So I trundled back home feeling miserable, as if I'd failed, and with a mouth that felt as if it had been attacked with a cheese grater. I managed to rationalise it all but then I woke in the night feeling terrible. After all that brushing and STILL I got it wrong.

I went back to sleep eventually but I told Himself this morning how I felt. “Of course you're upset,” he said. “Anyone would be. But you do brush your teeth properly and I'll bloody well tell them so, silly *****ers.”

I began to feel better. But he hadn't finished.

“You'll get your gums get better really quickly, like you did last time,” he said. “Just remember, Pop, you can do anything you want.”

What a star.

A medical week

Tomorrow himself has his next cancer checkup, an event usually awaited with a certain amount of trepidation, for the results. This time, however, his condition has been stable for months so unless something has changed drastically, he should be all right. Still, there is always that margin of error ready to trip us up..... The consultant is short and very portly, like a balloon - so much so that I'm tempted to shove a needle in him to see if he'd deflate. He squints from behind very thick glasses that make you wonder how he can see at all without them (he probably can't). He obviously hates women, or considers them too lowly to be bothered with, as in the two years we've been seeing him, he has never once looked at me, let alone address a comment to me.
Mind you, come to think of it, he doesn't look at himself either - not sure what that says about either of them.
Following on from that appointment, we head back here and I have the first of two sessions (each an hour and a half long) to clean the roots of my teeth. For those of you that haven't followed this saga, I have had months of excruciating toothache leading to my paying a private periodontist (someone who specialises in gum disease) extortionate amounts of money in order to try and save my teeth. I'm trying hard not to think about this root cleaning business and have so far pushed it to the side of my brain where it lingers dangerously, like a hangover ready to pounce. I comfort myself with the fact that it is done under local anaesthetic (thank God), but even so, it's not something that I look forward to, and I rather suspect that once the numbness wears off, it will hurt like hell. Wimp, moi?
The only comfort I get from the prospect of all this is that it only has to be done once - well, with two appointments to do one side of the mouth each time. Then, Never Again.
In the meantime, outside the sky is a gentle blue, a sparrow is doing a jitterbug on the overhanging fuchsia tree, and I have a vase of sweet peas on my desk that smell like a promise.