On The Pull

I've just arrived back at Dungroanin' following a visit to Dundee Dental Hospital.

I was sent to the hospital on the recommendation of my dentist, who spotted that one of my wisdom teeth has come through squint and is pushing against the molar in front of it, causing damage and decay.

In truth, I hadn't felt anything, but the dentist thought it best if I get the wisdom tooth checked out by the folks at the dental hospital, so I found myself there today for a preliminary examination.

And it's not good news. The molar has been damaged pretty badly, but nothing can be done to attempt to save it until the wisdom tooth has been removed. And dentists prefer to remove wisdom teeth in pairs, so I'm to find myself back in the chair before too long to have the upper and lower wisdom teeth on one side of my mouth whisked out.

I was offered three options for having the work done - a local anaesthetic injection that will numb my mouth but keep me fully aware during the procedure; a general anaesthetic so that I know nothing about it until I wake up with two gaping holes in my mouth; and a halfway house that would make me pretty groggy but keep me awake during the procedure, albeit leaving me away with the fairies afterwards.

I've had a few fillings in my time and have always managed just fine with the local anaesthetic injections, so I thought I'd brave it out and have the teeth removed while fully aware of what's happening.

Which maybe, on reflection, isn't the best idea - the dentist explained that the problem tooth will be split in two and the two roots removed separately, while the one that is being removed to make a matching set will be ripped out in a single effort.

When I described what was going to happen when I undergo this oral smash'n'grab, Mrs Wife baulked a little and reminded me that she had a general anaesthetic when she had her wisdom teeth removed.

But it's too late now, so I'll just have to remember that it'll all be over in less than an hour and I'll be fit to engage in retail therapy afterwards. And that I should get between two days and a week off work to recover.

Under The Knife Revisited

Almost 18 months on, and I'm now lined up for a second spell under the surgeon's knife in the seemingly never-ending quest to fix my knackered toes.

Regular readers (don't you have anything better to do?) will remember that I was first hacked at by the surgeon's blade in October 2006.

Whilst the operation was a complete success, my recovery caused much hilarity and much swearing in Groanin' Towers, as I hopped around the house smacking the bandaged toe off tables, doors and walls.

This time, things will be different. Firstly, because I now live an hour away from my place of work, I'll be excused a few days at the coal face, as my bleeding wounds will make driving and walking impossible.

So, I effectively get three days off work without actually feeling ill. I can lie on the sofa and watch DVDs, continue my push towards European success with Rangers on Football Manager 2008 and generally just lounge around like the lazy slob I am, all with the perfect excuses hanging off the bottom of my legs.

Hopefully the doctor will take one look at my troublesome tootsies and decide to remove both nails completely, allowing me to never again be troubled by ingrowing nails. Most footballers allegedly peak at the age of 28. So this should be my season.....