Once upon a dim stage dreary, while I twirled, weak and weary
Under many quaint and curious gaze’s of voyeurs wanting more
While I spun round, nearly falling, suddenly there came a calling
the voice of which was quite appalling, appalling and it screamed out “WHORE”
Tis’ some drunkard, I muttered, screaming out the insult “WHORE”
Only this and nothing more.
SCREAMING
It’s now 2 days after having my teeth out, and things have visibly improved; swelling has gone down a lot. I still feel quite gummy and uncomfortable though, and the tablets feel like they’re becoming less effective at controlling the pain. It’s not quite unbearable yet thankfully, so it’s all good. I can’t say my stomach is having fun with all the meds though.
One major woe past pain and stomach upset is the reduced chewing ability. I’m allowed to eat whatever I want, but I can’t eat whatever I want. I likened this in my head to someone giving you a credit card of infinate money, but not the PIN. There’s a world of noms out there, and they cannot go in my mouth.
This didn’t stop me wanting to crunch something. I pined for texture between my teeth.
Toast. I want toast.
As I made tea I eyeballed the Marmite.
I want toast with Marmite. I want it NOW. I wouldn’t even say I was one for Marmite, I neither love nor hate it. I’ve broken the sacred advertising mantra.
There seems to be some sort of association in my brain between having teeth out and dental extractions. I put this down to when I had teeth out when I was little, as my mum made me some Marmite in a mug since I couldn’t chew anything. Either that or the fact the bloody taste in your mouth vaguely resembles Marmite. Apparently the meaty taste of yeast extract spreads is due to the fact yeast is a living cell, and in the process by which they’re made kills them, and leaves behind their proteins, which of course make up muscle. So it’s a bit dubious as to whether or not it’s really vegetarian…
I soldiered up the toast for ease of chew, and scurried back upstairs.
All in all, it took 8 minutes to eat. Was worth it.
While in the kitchen I had planned to make my long-awaited apple puffs, having bought the pastry sometime before Christmas in a flurry of culinary ambition. As it turned out, the pastry was now 2 weeks out of date. I had a sadface and dumped it.
A non food highlight of the day has been my Natalie Dee T-shirt arriving:
It’s not the ideal size since it was a sale and everyone is inevitably the same size and wants the same thing as you, but it will do nicely as a pyjama/slouch shirt.
Yesterday was barcode day (1/1/11, lol), an it was also wisdom-teeth-removal-day for me. This also doubled as a handy excuse to not go back to uni for another week or two (pretty much my whole course is on the internet, so it’s unlikely to be life or death with regards to missing stuff).
Here is why I had them out:
I got to the hospital at 8am, waited till about 9:30, then had to change into my delightful NHS gown, green bath robe and purple be-hearted slipper combo. I felt like a princess.
They had me sit in some room watching TV for 10 or so minutes (something about moving house, typical daytime programme), before wheeling me into some sort of vestibule where they gave me a cannula (by now 10am). The anaesthetist made some pleasant university-related chit chat as he administered me with some lovely drugs. The ceiling went blurry, and the next thing I knew I was in what I thought was my own bed. I lay there for a bit, wriggling as you do, before I realised there were people in my room. Oh yeah, surgery…
It was 11:30 or so when I got back to the ward, I spose popping teeth out isn’t exactly brain surgery, but it seemed a short time. While I was lying there off my tits on whatever they had administered, a chap I used to (and to some extent do) like appeared and gave me some ice packs. I must have given him something of a funny look since he said “yes, I’m the guy from the coffee shop, don’t look so shocked” with a laugh. He looked like some sort of gothic angel in his white uniform, not something I would have imagined him in otherwise, but it suited him. I think I snoozed for a bit, until people came in with various drugs for me.
Goth-angel kept offering me foods, and I gave in eventually and attempted a yoghurt. Not the best yoghurt I’ve had, but then this is hospital food, not a la carte. I conquered the poo-yoghurt, and a nurse said if I was to complete the 3 tests (2 of which were eating and drinking, which I’d already done) I could go home. Test number 3 was going to the loo by yourself. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. I made my way out of bed and on to my feet, so far so good. Bit by bit, I got dressed, and every layer of clothing seemed to bring on a wave of illness, until I felt the need to press the call button and utter “I feel quite sick” before my stomach exploded (minor hyperbole).
This began my downhill spiral into my overnight stay. I began to learn when a vom-bomb was coming by the violent sweating and fever I got some 10 seconds before. This didn’t particularly make me feel any better knowing what was coming. I was given some anti-vom drug though my cannula, which was about as useful as a flaccid penis at an orgy. Needless to say I rejected any means of making a good impression on goth-angel-guy by vomming back up any food he brought me. Several pukes later, they decided I needed to stay, and wheeled me to Ward 2 - women’s surgical. I don’t remember a great deal after my family left, I spose I must have slept on and off. I do however, remember asking for painkillers.
A nurse brought over a drip, to which I thought “hell yeah! Drugs!”, then explained “oh and we’ll also give you a needle in your bum”.
“…I’m sorry, where are you giving me the needle?”
“Your bum”
“But I have a tube…”
She went on to explain the dangers of giving whatever was in this needle into the cannula. I moped while she stabbed me in the arse. I seemed to be very sleepy afterwards, as I remember writing text messages and falling asleep midway and dreaming I was writing the text. I woke up to some garbled text on my screen. This happened many times, then I gave up and tried to sleep.
It got to about 10pm, and I decided I wanted food. I asked for a sandwich. There seemed to be some confusion as to who was getting me said sandwich. One nurse went to check on sandwich flavours, and another came back with a default ham. I was in the mood for cheese really, but whatever.
I also got some “hot chocolate”. I can’t stress the inverted commas enough; it was like no hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted or ever will again.
Sleep was on and off the whole night, sleeping sitting up isn’t the most comfortable, but it beat lying down. I got paranoid about moving the bed since I thought I was annoying the old ladies opposite. 5:20am came and I decided I needed more drugs, which helped me sleep a little.
8am, food time. I had “ready brek” (again, inverted commas due to dubious nature of the food) and Ovaltine. After breakfast and more pills I slept in a very zombie-ish fashion sat up in bed with my mouth hanging open. I couldn’t really help the effects of gravity on my face, I imagine it wasn’t a very attractive sight. Come 11am I decided to put some pants on, and waited for my mum.
So after two less teeth, drugs that would make Keith Richards jealous and jowls that would make Marlon Brando envious, I’m home again.
And all to rid my face of these beauties.
I am massively in love with stars.
A Milky Way Shadow at Loch Ard Gorge
Credit & Copyright: Alex Cherney (Terrastro)
I’m sure we all pine for semi-obtainable things now and then, and I’m by no means an exception.
Today’s object of desire:
A kitten. Now I love my bunny rabbits and always will, but unless you have a well rabbit-proofed house and aren’t too precious with your possessions, they’re a bit of hard work. Cats on the other hand seem to be only interested in destroying your upholstery, which I can live with frankly. They also seem so God-damn fun to play with, not to mention their sickening cuteness. I suspect it’s impossible to be sad when you own a kitten, they’re like furry balls of Prozac. The below is a demonstration of how a kitten works:
You: “*insert upsetting situation here*”
Kitten: “I’m a kitten”
You: “EVERYTHING IS GREAT”
See? Eternal happiness. At least until they shit in your bed.
