I hated them when they were shiny and white because they didn’t look or feel right to me, so I destroyed them. Slowly. Over the years. Years and years of use and abuse. From the days of fizzy drinks and too many sweeties through to the years of cider and cigarettes as well.
They crumbled before I did. And I grew to hate my teeth for the black rotten stumps that they had become. Expecially that last stubborn bastard that whould not give in and reminded me of its presence now and then by digging into the gums as I mushed my way through a sandwich…
I missed what I’d had and regretted their demise and had to make do with what was left.
And now they’re gone. Completely.
On Thursday I was admitted to the hospital for the procedure that should have taken no more than three hours. The medics looked after me well and, after acknowledging that I’d been through a general anaesthetic procedure a fortnight previously, let me know that the process would be exactly the same as before. (Oh, great!)
I kind of knew that would happen as I could feel the tumour had rebulked itself to the extent that my voice had started to become more nasal again, though I still had less difficulty swallowing than before.
My “in at 12, back home by 7” suddenly turned into an overnight stay. (And here’s me without my best nightie!)
It won’t be until after my chemo/radiotherapy has been completed that the dentist will be able to tell me what can be done with my now empty jaws – “we’ve left it in an awful mess” was how he put it to me… It all depends on how or if my jawbone survives.
Until then, a diet of soup…
…and crème brulé, jelly, ice cream…
Tomorrow, I’ll be off to Saint Luke’s for the next stage of my treatment. Fitting the mask for my radiotherapy sessions.
Confusion Reigns Supreme 
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