Musings and Snoozes

Because actually, sometimes all you need is a rainforest

So, in an impulsive moment that I reckon even my Dad would have been impressed with, I’m currently lying here, wrapped in a beautifully soft duvet, propped up by 72 gorgeous cushions, and contemplating another half hour in the magical rainforest shower of amazingness. In other words, I decided sod it, I was booking into a hotel for the weekend. So here I am at The Crown in Amersham (so not far from home!), recovering after one of the most unpleasant weeks of my 27 years. And for posterity’s sake, and because you should all share in my misery, I’m going to tell you all about it.

First off though, Backstreet Boys last Friday-bloody amazing, one of the most ridiculous concerts I’ve ever been to, and totally not responsible for my terrible week.

Secondly, drag racing at Santa Pod last Saturday for Mike’s birthday – also bloody amazing. So much fun, so regret not being brave enough to race Jon’s car (though proud that he did!), and also totally not responsible for my week of doom. 

And then there was Sunday. Sunday started out pretty well-there was coffee with mum and then later there was lunch and some amount of hilarious chav to laugh at in Frankie and Benny’s. There was also however some tooth pain that seemed to develop into sinus pain, which resulted in me shaking from head to foot on the way home. Should have known then that it probably wasn’t just sinusitis.

Cut forward to 1am and several dihydrocodeine (sp?) later and I’m crying into my blanket, not knowing what to do. Now I pride myself on being pretty good at coping with pain, but with a jaw the size of a golf ball and absolutely no let-up of intense stabbing pain, I gave in and bawled.

Poor Jon at this point probably didn’t know what to do with me, but being the ever practical badger that he is (he has a badger stripe of grey hair for anyone wondering on the nickname) he took me to the Minor Injuries Clinic at the hospital. I did much resisting, worrying they might just tell me to grow a pair and go home, but actually in hindsight given that I could barely walk, talk or breathe (not to mention the violent body shakes that were back), it was actually a perfectly reasonable idea, but y’know, contrary to popular belief I don’t actually like making a fuss!

Anyway, clearly not enough fuss was being given as they sent me straight off to A&E (after making me spell Sj√∂grens and Hydroxychloquine five times), as they couldn’t do anything there.

So then there was A&E, somewhere I’ve had the privilege of spending far too much time in over the years but which, for once, wasn’t full of vomiting drunkards. I got seen by triage pretty quickly and the nurse spent a good half hour running round trying to find me something for the pain that wasn’t ibruprofen based. Eventually she came back with some tramadol, warning me how strong it was and was I sure I was ok taking it. By this point of course I could have happily cut my own face off, so I took them. Sadly they had absolutely no effect whatsoever, so I just continued to whimper.

Eventually a very lovely doctor saw me, I fell over as the pain was making me dizzy, and she got me a bed. After a barrage of tests, she was baffled and had to send for a senior doctor and more importantly, some more pain killers. The latter came first in the form of amitriptyline (oh the irony), and the doctor followed half hour later. Several pokings and proddings later, I was discharged with a diagnosis of shingles in my jaw, the prospect of no painkiller known to man having an effect (the amitriptyline failed too), and a possibility of steroids and maybe even an operation to kill the nerve permanently further down the line. The only glimmer of hope was that there was an anti-epilepsy drug (oh the irony again) that could help, but no he couldn’t prescribe it so I’d have to go to my gp. This is why I hate A&E.

The GP appointment was duly booked and as expected, the doctor had no clue what drug she was supposed to prescribe me as A&E had given no info. So she started from scratch and formed her own diagnosis, an infection, and gave me antibiotics and uber cocodamol.

Looks like she was right and the antibiotics slowly started to kick in Wednesday afternoon, by which point the lump of the side of my face was starting to resemble its own continent and I’d nearly lost the will to live, crying, throwing up, blacking out etc. All in all, not pleasant.

So after a week of barely moving from sofa to bed and back (mostly because the world hasn’t stopped swimming for days), I finally went utterly stir crazy earlier and booked Jon and I in here. Fairly certain Jon just thought it was another of my hairbrained ideas, not to mention cutting into his gaming time, but after some pasta, peroni, and pudding, he seems quite content snoring away next to me.

Next week I shall have to try and attack the underlying problem, ie find out if it’s dental or jaw related, plus sort out what to do about work, since I still can’t see straight and I’m so exhausted that anything more than about 10 steps kills me. But for now, I am cocooned in my expensive sheets, with my rainforest shower just a few steps away, and I don’t see why the complimentary chocolates won’t have me right as rain by morning.

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