My wisdom tooth had a little accident on Saturday. Little did we both know that it was curtains for the poor guy.
A filling fell out while I was eating chilli con carne, and I ended up swallowing it. I didn't even notice until later on, when I realised what had happened. I was miserable anyway, after a depressing email about my course, and so I moped around all weekend.
Monday came, and I called NHS Direct to arrange a dentist and some emergency dental treatment (the two are exclusive). During the course of the conversation, I accidentally let slip that I had swallowed the filling, and a few minutes later they called me back to demand that I immediately get over to the nearest Accident and Emergency for the swallowing of a "foreign body."
As it's a few miles away, I didn't fancy this in the least. Luckily I had access to a bike, so off I went, up and down the undulating hills until exhausted and hot, I arrived at the A&E. I queued up at reception, and told them what had happened. "Erm, you probably needn't be here," said the receptionist. "I know," I replied," but they were pretty insistant."
The receptionist clucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, much as I expected, before ushering me in to see the triage nurse, which I didn't expect at all.
NHS hospitals work in a specific way these days. Once you've queued to register at reception, you take a seat and wait to be seen by the triage nurse. She then evaluates how much of an emergency you constitute, and you wait a proportionate amount of time. Therefore the person with the sore finger has to wait until the person with the axe through his head has already been seen, no matter who arrives first. So, it was a surprise to jump the queue for the triage nurse. then again, it was probably just to save time and keep the queue down. "You can probably go, but I'll check with the doctor first," she said. I hung around for about ten minutes, and eventually the all-clear came. All told I was there for twenty minutes, and made the arduous journey back. Lovely, although I still had to sort the cavity out. I called the emergency dentist, who said, "there aren't any more appointments today. call this other number at 5.15."
The number was engaged from 5.15 until about 6, when the lady told me, "the evening number is only for people with swollen faces and the like, call the other number tomorrow at 9.00."
I gave up at this point and applied the temporary tooth filling I had bought. It's pink, and you squash it into the hole, whereupon it sticks to your fingers and makes a mess. I got it in, and then had a stirfry for tea. The filling fell out. I reapplied it, and it stuck this time.
This morning I called the number, and by half nine I got through. "There's an appointment at 10.40, but it'll cost £42.40." "Oh," I said. "Don't worry," they said. "They'll take cash, cheques and cards." So I made my way there.
The receptionist looked down her nose a little at me. "No, we only take cash or cheques," she said. It took ten minutes to find a cash machine in this rather less than sulubrious part of town, but I found one in the end.
Eventually I went in, and the small, pretty, lady dentist decided I had to have the tooth out, as too much of it was already gone. I hate needles. I hate them even more when they're sticking in my gums. She sent me to weait in reception for quarter of an hour, and it took that long to stop shaking as the adrenaline wore off.

The actual removal of the tooth wasn't too bad, if a little grindy and yanky. I walked back, and now I stalk the Earth, seeking sympathy and finding little. The paracetamol are working to some extent, but the dull throb is distracting.