Molar dilemma

I am on a diet of mush because I can’t chew at the moment. There are stitches all along one side of my mouth, screws on both waiting for implants. And so I cook vegetables, I mash them up in a bowl and I wait for the mush to be cold. Lukewarm really. Let me tell you this, tepid shepherd’s pie is a road to Damascus meal if you’re contemplating excising dead animals from your diet. A true opposite to finding pizza left in the box the morning after a night out.

I have yogurt a lot. The kind you put in a child’s lunchbox. No chunky bits. Chocolate mousse is good. Weetabix doused in milk and dissolved white sugar has stopped me fainting. Nutella is the best dessert. I’ll keep her in the next chapter.

It’s not a hard life really, all is coming along fine. As long as I don’t talk much. And take the pain tablets on the clock. I wake up in agony every morning because my body is screaming for a top-up. I don’t blame my big bag of bones and guts for being unnerved, some cow bone is trying to settle in my jaw. If this was a 1930s short story, I’d be mooing and in need of milking by now.

I was meant to get this surgery a few years ago in a posh clinic in Dublin. I had the date booked and then they issued the price plan. I emailed to cancel, saying I simply could not afford it. They said the payment was expected in stages. I explained that the first stage was out of my budget. The parting was peaceful after that missive. I can’t afford it this time either, really. It’s another posh clinic. And because I’ve waited, I’ve had to get slightly more work done. More stages, more payments. But the scans said I couldn’t ignore the situation anymore so I, as they say in the past, opened a line of credit. A suture in time, I’m living proof.

Besides not chewing, I’ve had to tone down on the chatter. I overexercised my mouth Friday evening. I went to a lovely play and drank water outside a bar with lovely people after. Everyone and everything is lovely when your sense of the world is glazed. Thank you Big Pharma.

Now, lesson learned, I sit silently enough in bed unraveling tangled wool, watching romantic movies drenched with colour (All That Heaven Allows, In the Mood for Love), and making lists of things I need to do. ‘Sort tooth eating other teeth bomb‘ is finally ticked off. ‘Eat toast again (a whole loaf in one go)’ is added.