The story so far...
Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth...I injured my knee playing sport. I immediately saw the error of my ways and promptly gave up all forms of sport. At the time I had minor surgery and have a vague memory of the guy in the white coat saying something along the lines of "well we've removed your cartilage so you should be fine now.....however, when you get older the knee might give you a bit of trouble. Sheez I was 18 - getting older wasn't in my plans.
Fast foward (past Afro's, platform heels, jeans that came up to your waist, shoulder pads, drive-in movies, - I am going to stop now - this is depressing) Many, many moons later said knee started playing up and required minor "adjustments". No biggie.
However....12 months ago I discovered I couldn't straighten my leg properly. Naturally my first reaction was to "wait and see". This course of action resulted in limping, lots and lots of limping. So back to the doctor I went. This time he told me I needed knee REPLACEMENT. I told him I would think about it, and I did, for several months. Then I went back and asked him if he was sure I needed knee replacement as I was not keen on surgery that involved the use of power tools, hammers and industrial glue. He told me he was sure about the replacement surgery. I said I needed to think about it some more. He gave me a strange look and a stronger prescription for pain killers and predicted I would be back when I couldn't stand the pain any longer.
One of the reasons for me faffing about is that you can expect to be in hospital for 1 week, followed by another 2 weeks of not being able to get around much and you can't drive for 6 weeks because your insurance won't cover you due to the joint replacement surgery. I also need to find a replacement for me at work and fit it in around other commitments. Finding a 6 week window of opportunity is not easy.
I managed to put up with the pain in my knee for a few more months, however, when I realised that my funny limp was causing other issues with the foot, hip, back and all "them bones" I finally made a date for surgery. Apparently dental work and replacement joints don't work well together so I also had to have a thorough dental check-up and clearance from my Dentist before the Surgeon would consider operating on the knee.
So after nearly a year of procrastinating I eventually find myself at the hospital 2 days before surgery and undergoing the "pre-admittance" procedure. The theory is that they get you in and go through all of the paperwork and do a basic medical check in advance so that you aren't so freaked out and wound up on the actual day of the surgery. Anyway one of the 2,000 questions they ask is "do you have any tooth pain?" I was going to lie and say "No", however, the stories I had heard about joint replacements going horribly wrong because of infections caused by dental work had me scared shitless so I fessed-up that I had "yesterday I noticed some minor discomfort with one of my molars". I was quick to add that only weeks previously I had undergone a full dental check-up and been given the all clear.
The nurse stopped what she was doing and told me to get dressed and get straight back to the Dentist to have it checked out. I had already booked an appointment for the following day - the day before my surgery - just to make sure....
So I am sitting in the Dentist's chair and she is poking and prodding and taking x-rays. She eventually decides that I MAY have a crack in the tooth but there is no sign of infection. (By this stage 5% of my feeble mind is warning me that everything is about to go to shit but the other 95% is in total denial and is busy packing my jim-jams and a good book to read). As I sit myself in the chair she is on the phone to my surgeon and I hear "yes, well there is no sign of infection....it looks as though the root might be dying off from the base.....yes it probably will need root canal in the not too distant future....yes I agree...better to be safe than take risks....
My reaction - howling, loud sobbing, tears, blotchy face, no, no, NO! I want my fucking knee OFF! NOW! I am willing to take the chance.....more tears. It was ugly, very, very ugly. And it went on and on and on. Not my finest moment.
Eventually I managed to get it together - at least I stopped the howling, swearing and loud sobbing - I just continued with the crying. Through all of this my Dentist, who is a gentle, kind and wonderful woman was trying to comfort me. Maybe I should mention that I am a large woman - very tall and "big". My Dentist is tiny, really tiny and delicate.
So she helps me (mind you I am still on crutches for the friggin knee) out and while I sit in the waiting room, attempting to wipe the tears from my eyes, she arranges an appointment for me to see an Endodontist (had to google it myself). The only bright side was the look of absolute fear on the face of the guy who was waiting to see her next.
I drive across town in peak hour traffic, complete with regular bouts of wailing "why me? why the fuck me?" I really am pathetic!
I see the Endodontist who tells me I need root canal work and a crown and it will take 5 weeks of treatment and cost me a squillion dollars. Oh and the tooth will probably only last 5 - 10 years. I tell him I will think about it......I have my PhD in Procrastination...seriously...I am really good at it. On the drive home I decide to hell with any more mucking around the damn thing can come out and be over and done with.
At 8pm I walk in my backdoor only to find a big bunch of flowers waiting for me.
My first reaction was to look at my husband, smile and thank him for being so wonderful. He returned my loving gaze with a look of total bewilderment and grumbled something along the lines "I haven't done anything wrong so why the hell would I send you flowers?" and "you need to adjust your meds" and strolled off. That was when I noticed the card...which read...
Dear......
I really feel for you for what has happened. I just hope these flowers cheer you up a little.
Kind Regards, A
Picture more wailing, and lots of "Oh my God! was I really that dramatic in the surgery" (Upon reflection I was shameful). More thoughts along the lines of "I can NEVER go back - I am a terrible person - how fucking embarrassing - Oh Shit - I have to go back - I want her to to pull the fucking thing out - I have just made the nicest person in the world feel guilty - I am an arsehole - time for a glass of red - what have I done".
So instead of being in hospital I was found myself back at the Dentist's (groveling and apologising for being such a drama queen) and having the offending molar extracted.
The tooth came out cleanly, however, I then managed to develop "dry socket" and wound up on 2 lots of pain killers and 2 different antibiotics for the next 2 weeks. I am still limping and back on the list for surgery next month.
And my daughter is not on speaking terms with me - because she was the one who recommended the Dentist and because of my "incident" she reckons she is too embarrassed to go back herself.
I do, however, have a dentist who sends me flowers.
