It Could Be Worse

[This was a slightly incoherent ramble which I haven't had time to tidy up. I blame the anaesthetic (for the incoherence) and Life in General (for the lack of time)]

My lower 8s (bottom wisdom teeth to non-dentists) have been trouble since they first started coming through in 1999 - the gum pockets got infected before the teeth had even emerged, so I had to have a trip to the emergency dentist (in Melksham, as I recall) and some antibiotics.

I’d had my upper wisdom teeth removed in 1998 on the advice of my dentist; although they were at a bit of a strange angle (they pointed outwards, causing me to bite my cheeks - owie!) they were fairly easily removed under local anaesthetic.

I had heard that lower wisdom teeth were not normally so obliging. After an initial recommendation in 2006 to have them removed, I finally got around to seeing the consultant surgeon, a very genial chap by the name of Mr. Lutterloch, in February this year.

My initial appointment for the surgery, in April, had to be postponed as I had a cold but yesterday on May 21st the day came at last. Mr. Lutterloch reassured my nerves regarding general anaesthetic and my suggestion of sedation instead (”general anaesthetic is like riding on a train; sedation is like riding on a motorbike”) and I went down to theatre just before 9am. I woke up in the recovery room at about 9.40, feeling quite sleepy yet elated - I kept smiling spontaneously as I realised those pesky teeth had gone.

I was back in my private room by 10.10am and able to use my mobile to text Kathy that I was all fine. An hour later my swabs were taken out and I had scrambled eggs (no toast, though - not soft enough) just before midday. Kathy picked me up at 2pm and that was that.

I’ve got stitches in my gums, which will be in for a couple of weeks, and a cocktail of painkillers and antibiotics to take. On the whole, though, I feel pretty normal. Well, as normal as it gets

UPDATE: the normal feeling didn’t last. Once the local anaesthetic wore off, I felt pretty rubbish. I’m still in some discomfort now, which may indicate an infection on one side that requires more antibiotics. Repeat to self: “at least the teeth are gone.”

Pearl Beadle, my Mum, passed away peacefully yesterday morning, April 2nd 2008. She was surrounded by the love of her family during the last week. Many of the family were at her bedside when she left this life at 9.40 am.

What can I say? Her passing came as no shock, given the events of the past ten days. Mum suffered a second stroke on Easter Monday, this time affecting the left side of her brain. Combined with the stroke she had suffered to the right side in December 2006, her chances of recovery were low. The doctors gave us three options: all-out treatment; see-how-it-goes treatment; or let her go. We had to ask ourselves “would Mum value the quality of life she would have?” The answer, sadly, was “no” and we opted to let Mum go in as peaceful and a dignified way as possible.

For stroke patients whose relatives have opted in this way, the average time from withdrawal of fluids to death is ten days. The doctors and nursing staff didn’t think that Mum would last past the weekend; in the end she lived on for a week. Despite the damage to her brain, her body was strong and she continued to display the guts and determination that had led her to learn to speak and walk again, albeit only short distances and with the aid of my Dad and a stick, after her first stroke. She was unconscious for much of the time but responded, when awake, with noises and facial movements.

We did as much as we could to make Mum’s last days as comfortable as possible. She isn’t disabled anymore; she has gone to a better place where there is no more crying, no more illness, no more disability, no more sadness and no more death.

Mum is singing now; her beautiful voice is praising God in heaven and will do so for ever.

I love you, Mum. I miss you, but I’ll remember with fondness all the special times we’ve had together, and I’m especially glad you got to meet little Abigail. Thanks for being my Mum.