My teeth HATE me.

Oh the pain.

You may remember a rather smug little post that I did about a visit that I had to the dentist? Let me tell you a sad thing. I am not feeling so smug at the moment.

My teeth are in revolt. I don’t have gum disease. I don’t have abbesses or filling that have fallen out or holes that need fixing. I have teeth that just have nothing better to do than torture me, which they have successfully done by inflicting varying degrees of pain on me since February. I assume my teeth have some sinister motive for causing me such pain.  Maybe they no longer wish to reside inside my mouth?  They have recently taken the torture to a new level because, clearly, I have not bowed down to their demands and given them their independence. Though what they would do with that I have no idea.

I am in bloody agony darlings. Whatever it is that gets exposed  (dentene or some such thing) has my nerves reacting as if they are in the throes of a massive bacterial infection (where there is none) and has me on my knees. It is a conspiracy I tell you. There is no way my teeth are winning.  They will stay put no matter how much they terrorise me.

I mentioned to my dentist yesterday that if my teeth were not brought "under control" people would die. I did not, as it happens, mean him. I meant people around me every day because there is only so much pain one can live with before one lashes out and woe betide anyone in the way at the time. I think that living with on-off pain since February and constant pain for a week or so shows a supreme level of patience on my part, but I am weakening. I just know I am about to explode with the frustration of the wearing down of everything that makes me such a joy to normally be around. I think my lovely dentist thought I was possible getting at him and was extremely cautious about coming anywhere near my mouth with any instruments that might cause me even a bit of discomfort.

The upshot of the visit to the Lovely Dentist Barry is that I have a mouth painted with some horrid tasting goo that is supposed to protect my nerves for a bit and I have to paste my teeth every hour on the hour with Sensodyne toothpaste. BUT IT IS NOT BLOODY WORKING.

Never, ever in my life has the idea of false gnashes been so appealing. I almost wish my teeth were rotting just to have an excuse to get rid of the lot of them. But they are not, so I cannot. I suspect that the solution may land up costing me the equivalent of an exotic holiday destination stay in a 6 star hotel for a month, with none of the benefits. Or maybe that is what my teeth have been angling for, a beach holiday with an endless supply of pinna colada’s and a gentle breeze?

The dentist tells me I have a traumatic bite so maybe my teeth and my jaw don’t get on and they are issuing me an ultimatum. Either the jaw goes or we go? I am starting to understand how destructive relationships work. Can’t live with them, can’t bloody live without them.

I need help. All well researched, scientific solutions are welcome. Don’t bloody come to me with eye of f-ing newt and gizzard of a lizard remedies. I am not in the mood.  

Tomorrow I will be back at the dentist. Do you think if I threaten to break his other foot (did I mention he has a broken foot?) he might at least prescribe me something strong. Pethidine strong?