Ill befalls (s)he who pays no heed

Posted: 01/05/2011 in ravings of a mad woman

Had a bad week? I have. Once again I seem to have outdone myself on the accidental injury front. No, scratch that, these weren’t all neccessarily accidents. By this I mean that with a little extra concentration or maybe just sticking to the rules maybe these accidents and traumas could have been averted. I must begin my giving a little back story to help you understand. I have a problem with my jaw resulting from years of swinging my lower jaw whilst eating (yes, in much the same way as a cow) which may eventually result in having to have my jaw wired back into place to make it go straight. Now with this threat hanging over my head and the fact that it actually hurts to eat anything too hard or chewy, I am not really meant to over work my jaw too much. This being considered, why did I have to go and eat Haribo? On this particular occasion all was going swimmingly until I put a sour cherry in my mouth and bit down hard. That was when I heard the sound that everyone without private dental care will fear more than the taxman: TING.

It was at this point that I knew something had gone badly wrong and my sweet munching days would be well and truly over for some considerable time. The ringing still in my ear and the throbbing under my eye socket growing in intensity I leapt to my feet and launched myself into the bathroom, uttering the words “Oh crap, oh crap” over and over again under my breath and through gritted teeth (gritted purely because I believed something was about to fall out)  as I ran past a stunned “Dude”.  On inspecting the damage I realised that I had in fact broken one of my teeth right down the middle from front to back. Of course I was more than a little worked up by this! I’ve been to the emergency dental unit at the hospital during the week but this was 2am on a saturday! Of course there went my saturday morning lie in as I now had to get up at quarter past stupid in the morning to try to find someone to fix it for me. As if this piss take of a wasted day wasn’t bad enough, I should have actually been at my Grandmothers surprise Birthday party. I had to stay home as I was looking after my sisters dog whilst she’s off sunning herself in skinny Florida and as my parents were going to Grammys I had to stay home with the mutt. So eventually I managed to taxi myself to the dental clinic only to be told that it was a gonner. Several injections of several different types of anesthetic later and I was numb from my eyes to my tits and it was time to give it a go. I wish they had maybe given me a tad more because whilst I couldn’t talk or control the drooling it still wasn’t quite numb enough in the general tooth area. He pressed on. I’ll spare you the gory details but it took somewhere in the region of 20 minutes and a lot of screaming to get the bugger out, along with knees in the chest for leverage and even the changing of the poor dental nurse (seriously, you need a stronger stomach love) but eventually it was over. I considered asking if I could keep all the dozen or so tiny pieces that had once been one of my premolars but by this point I was too annoyed at it to want to ever see it again (that and the fact that if I’d caught a glimpse of the Tooth Fairy that night I probably would have had her strung up by her own teeth or even gone a little “Marathon Man” on her ass). They cleaned me up, took my money off me and shoved me out the door. Now, I tend to have a bit of a reaction to dental anesthetics, especially when given mixed doses, and this time was no exception. I stumbled my way out of the building and into the overly bright sunshine and proceeded to collapse against a wall and tried to roll myself a cigarette. It took no less than 3 attempts with my shaky hands and numbed mouth but i got there in the end, but forgot about the fact that it is nearly impossible to actually smoke when, for all intents and purposes you are wearing someone elses face. The trooper that I am, I soldiered through and eventually managed to call myself a taxi and was proud of myself for only having to repeat my instructions to the woman on the other end of the phone twice. I sulked all the way home in the taxi and, to be honest, for most of the rest of the day.

This was, unfortunately, not the end of my tale of great woe. On the following Thursday, on returning from the shops with “The Dude” I somehow managed to slam my poor little thumb in the car door. Now this is something that I know almost everyone will do at least once in their lives, usually when children, but as a grown up you have to remain calm. It didn’t help that there were people walking up the street towards me so I couldn’t lose my cool. I didn’t even yelp but simply opened the door again and pulled my hand out. Now I feel I must explain a little something here: I am forever being told off by one person or another for not giving anything my full attention. The reason I managed to shut my hand in the door was because I was too preoccupied with tucking the wing mirror in to avoid having it kicked off again by one of the genius students who seem to feel that if they do it enough it may well become an Olympic sport. It was because of this simple lack of communication between left hand, right hand, brain and common sence that I was left with a mangled digit, a numb hand and a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I announced to the “Dude” what I had done and, considering it was in fact very much an “I told you so” moment, he was surprisingly sympathetic. It wasn’t until I got in through the front door that the pain really hit me and my god was it bad. Within one minute the nail had gone bright blue and by the next morning a depressingly black line had begun to spread up from the cuticle. Luckily the next day I had an appointment with the nurse at my doctor’s surgery and whilst I was there I took the opportunity to flash my, by now, beautifully blackened digit to her and muster only the question: “What can I do about this”. Her reaction was quite impressive. considering she is a nurse, recoiling in horror at a finger smash injury confirmed to me that I may well have not been quite as lucky as I usually am and it dawned on me that I was going to have to go to A&E. She told me to get my ass down there straight away and get it drained and check to see that nothing was broken. I then had to call the “Dude” and inform him that I was going to have to have a second visit to an emergency unit in less than a week. He wasn’t best pleased. Luckily we were only there for about two hours and a xray showed there was nothing broken (silver linings and all that) but then i had to have the thing drained. The stupid nurse lied and said it wouldn’t hurt. I wasn’t best pleased. Eventually they bandaged up my poorly purple thumb, stuck me in a sling and sent me on my way as high as a kite. Thank you very much to the NHS. There were also a great deal of other accidents that week, including smashing my elbows and shoulders into door frames, nearly breaking a toe by rolling over it with a chair and a cracking bruise of my shin from smashing it into the edge of the low wall at the front of the house, punching myself int he face and even poking myself in the eye on more than one occasion. My biggest problem and bruise causer is the fact that I seem to be totally incapable of walking directly through a doorway. I decided to take the shortest path and enter diagonally which, 9 times out of 10, results in me banging or grating an elbow or shoulder against the frame. I can assure you now that this is something I plan on working on. I doubt I’ll actually be able to change but I’ll give it a go.

Nearly a month later the nail on my still mangled thumb eventually began to come away a bit at a time until it got to the point where it was only being help on by a 3mm square patch of skin right at the tip and the strip of plaster I had to use to stop it flapping around. I joked with my mum about how I was probably going to catch it on something and rip it off so I’d best keep it taped up at all times. Congratulations on their way to me, of course, when just half an hour later (having forgotten to put the new plaster on after taking the old one off) I managed to do exactly that whilst pulling my slouching trousers up. Two things can be learnt from this: 1) always remember to redress your wounds and 2) WEAR A BELT!!

Now, over two months later it is finally on the mend I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear and the new nail, whilst bumpy and uneven, is growing nicely. Of course every time I get out of the car now I close the door properly before even thinking about anything else. Maybe for once in my life I may have actually learnt something from this. We’ll see.


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