I visited the dentist on Wednesday. The verdict was an infected root (again!) and she gave me a prescription for Amoxicillin, the antibiotic I can't drink alcohol with because it causes stomach pains and nausea. (Not Ampicillin, I got that wrong.) She suggested I doubled the dose for the first two days, i.e. 2 pills three times a day, as she had prescribed the 250 mg version rather than the stronger 500 mg, then cut down to one three times a day for the next three days, making a 5 day course in all.
An hour after taking the first double dose, I felt sick, cold and wobbly. Thinking it was just stress due to being told that the cost of root canal treatment by their specialist was £795, I ignored it and took the second double dose at 9 pm. We had an overnight visitor who I was looking forward to sharing a drink with, but not only was there no alcohol, there was no sleep, either, as I got the stomach pains, nausea and diarrhoea without a drop of booze having touched my lips, and was trotting to the loo all night.
I dozed off around 4 am and started awake at 6.20, having remembered that Mr G had 2 tons of logs being delivered at 7 am and our visitor had parked right on the spot where they were due to be decanted. Could I ask her to move her car, I wondered? I listened at her door but she was snoring peacefully. I then woke Mr Grumpy, who was EXCEEDINGLY grumpy. I felt our friend's coat pocket and her car keys were in it, but he reckoned he could manage.
The logs turned up bang on the dot and were almost decanted onto her bright green Smart Car, which would have turned it into a squashed Kermit. Then the bin men came, then the recycling lorry, and I went back to bed feeling like death, with a bucket next to me just in case, as I felt so sick.
A friend of Mr G's, hearing my tale of woe, suggested calling my GP to see if she could prescribe a different antibiotic. I did that but they said I must ring the dentist and ask what she would recommend. Erythromycin. I have to ring after 2 pm to find out if the GP has agreed to give me a prescription.
'What shall I do if it flares up over Christmas?' I asked the dentist. Why do these things always happen on Bank Holidays? The problem with the tooth above, which was removed last month, started on Good Friday two years ago. 'Ring me,' she said. Come on! How could I ring her when she'll be with her family eating Christmas dinner? I'd rather call one of those 24 hour emergency clinics, even though she told me not even to think about it! In fact, I'd rather call any big, strong, male dentist right now and ask him to use the strength of his mighty forearms and muscular fingers to whip it out in one minute flat, rather than have that woman spend 3/4 of an hour ripping my head off like she did last month and then charge me £250 for the privilege.
One way or another, I am thoroughly dreading Christmas.
PS The tooth is now throbbing quite nastily. Not bloody fair!
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