I don't know if I can make a coherent sentence right now, but just for you, I'll give it a go: I had little if any sleep last night, as the intermittent toothache that has been grumbling recently returned in such whacking great force that I was sucking down any and all painkillers that I could find in the house by the handful. Yes, that includes the kids' Calpol - I was that desperate.
First thing this morning I was on the phone to the dentist where I thought I was registered and where I regularly take the kids for their checkups; the receptionist who has retained her job for quite a while in spite of her total lack of any people skills whatsoever told me that since I had not visited for myself since 2006 (I know, I know) that I no longer counted as registered, and would have to call the NHS 111 number for an emergency dentist.
I did that, and having answered all the 111 lady's questions - which incidentally and happily for me showed that I was not having either a heart attack, stroke or bleeding to death - I obtained yet another phone number, this time for some kind of emergency dental portal thingy.
I explained my piteous story again to the dental lady, who promptly gave me a special secret squirrel code, which magically granted me access to an emergency appointment, safely past Cerberus, Hell's Receptionist .... to my own old dentist.
No, I have no idea how that works.
I actually got there like a grown-up, unaccompanied and under my own steam (as opposed to being dragged kicking and screaming, like usual) and in time. The dentist and his assistant were lovely and friendly even though I was wide-eyed with panic, sweating and shaking like an over-raced horse; he took one look and said that I would most likely have to have the tooth removed, but for now he would put some special stuff on it that would hold everything including the pain at bay until I could return for a regular appointment.
I begged and implored, I wailed and emphatically did NOT gnash my teeth asking him to remove it now this minute please .... No, you're right, I didn't, actually - the pain was only 9.9 out of 10, still not quite enough for me to request any kind of treatment involving needles. He said this paste would be working within 3 hours.
It didn't feel like it to me, so a quick trip to the pharmacy up the road where I got lots of sympathy, massive doses of ibuprofen and some topical stuff containing actual Lidocaine (OH WHAT JOY) greatly improved things so that I was able to doze off for a nap on the sofa with the cat.
Yes, Moonheart - the cat whose attack resulted in a pus-filled A&E date night for DH and me. She loves me, though, with lots of purrs and cuddles. I guess like goes to like.
And now I have a return visit to the dentist scheduled which will weigh over me as heavy as an elephant hanging by a frazzled old little piece of fraying string. I have focussed on my goal, which I hope will give me the inner fortitude to survive the coming oral traumas:
Big Girl Pants will be mine again soon.