It’s not pain that hurts – it’s bureaucracy
After four entire nights without a single second’s sleep I turned up at the doctor’s surgery this morning three nano seconds after they’d pried the doors open. Unusually, the delightfully cheerful receptionist would have nothing to do with me. Apparently they could offer me no assistance with anything involving teeth and pointed a talon towards the dentist’s dungeon.
‘Alright, forget the teeth part’, I groaned. ‘It’s just pain. Surely you can do something about that.’
‘Dentist!’ she snapped.
Aforementioned dentist wouldn’t see me on an NHS basis, it being Saturday and all, but offered me a (paid) walk-in service immediately. I left thirty minutes later considerably poorer after he’d given me an injection that I’m pretty sure scraped my knees, from the inside. I did indeed have two abscesses in my mouth he confirmed with a grin. Thankfully the injection stopped the pain for three hours, and prevented me from talking for the same time, much to the joy of my wife. He also issued me some enormously powerful antibiotics he assured me would cure an elephant – although he did not say what of, and me of the pain once they’d got into my system. And further promised to email the X-rays he’d just taken to the dentist with whom I’ve booked an appointment on Wednesday.
He also sold me some painkillers guaranteed to bring back the dead. That remains to be seen. My immunity to all anesthetic suggests that it’s unlikely.
I just hope all the infection has gone by then or the dentist who will see me won’t do anything. If that happens I have a pair of pliers in the garage and I’ll tear the sods out myself.