Dealing the death-blow to the weird wee thingy on my lip

Some time ago, more than a year from memory, I was at the dentist being seen to by a young man who wasn’t my regular charming dentist-man. I’d have to say that having a charming dentist does make a visit there somewhat less unpleasant.  Although, having suffered ‘torture-house’ ministrations from school dental nurses in my young days, a dentist would have to dazzle me senseless before I ever stopped gripping the arms of the dentist chair in a grip that would leave Hercules with bruises. The stand-in dentist I had on that occasion, though, was much more than charming, he had a suggestion.

I have a non-serious thingy on my lower lip a bit like a blood blister. It started off as a tiny dot about thirty-five years ago, and has gradually grown to become sizeable enough to be noticeable. It’s never caused me any problems, nor much in the way of anguish at ‘marring’ my appearance, but when the dentist suggested that I could probably get it dealt a death blow on the public health system, I thought “why not?”. And like magic, some time later I got a letter from the Christchurch Public Hospital to say that I was on the waiting list.

Then Covid struck, and I thought that that was the end of that for a while, maybe a good long while. But surprisingly it only seemed to put a small glitch in the Public Health Care machine, and a couple of months ago I had my initial consultation about dealing the death blow to the thingy on my lip. The doctor said it would be uncomfortable, as in could be pretty painful, but I womaned-up and agreed to proceed. So, six days ago I was back there ready and staunchly prepared for what was to come.

Hmmm…..that last bit was a tiny lie – actually, a big lie, because I was as nervous as hell.

It turned out that I didn’t quite understand that the discomfort, as in the pain, would all be in the following days after the death blow had been dealt. The death blow itself was a piece of cake. The after-death-blow was a different story. I got a prescription for four different kinds of pain-killers, each one a bigger beast than the one before, with instructions on how to escalate the dosage as required, and then wean myself off. By this time I was getting close to being incapable of thinking more than two-word thoughts that began with an ‘f’ and ended with ‘me’. Between the doctor, hand-written instructions, and the pharmacist, I finally got the pain-killing pills process into my head. Jaysus, this multiple meds-taking business isn’t easy. No wonder people can muck it up. I keep my fingers crossed that I continue to stay meds-free for as long as possible.

I left the hospital with a fat numb lip, and an armful of pain-killers. I was very quiet in the taxi going home, wondering what was in store for me over the next week. Once home and inside, I lined the beasts up on the kitchen benchtop in the order I was told to take them in as required, and waited for the anaesthetic to wear off and the for the pain to start.

And waited. Then waited some more. Nothing. Still nothing the next day. I began to feel cautiously optimistic, but didn’t quite trust that the pain wouldn’t ambush me just as I was relaxing. Six days later, and Pain still hasn’t come visiting. I’m beginning to relax. But I still like knowing that I have an army of painkillers lined up on my benchtop ready to spring into action should the need arise. I noticed today, however, that they had been pushed a bit further back on the benchtop away from prime grabbing position.

I’m pleased that I didn’t need to take any pain relief, but now I have some pretty big beast painkillers which I don’t need. Me being me, I feel a bit bad about the waste of public money. And also very happy about the waste of public money.

This coming week, Sis and I are off to Dunedin for a couple of days on Secret Women’s Business. I was wondering if it was going to be a drugged-up couple of days – in a different way to what it would once have been – but it seems that all will be well. Maybe I’ll pop a beast or two in my bag, though, just in case 🙂

header pic by shahab yazdi (@shahabya) | Unsplash Photo Community

14 thoughts on “Dealing the death-blow to the weird wee thingy on my lip

  1. We have an odd way of dealing with painkillers up here — a pendulum that swings with all the drama explained by Poe. And he was probably on some kind of ‘medicinal’ at various times. I have been familiar with painkillers since about 1975 — Crohn’s disease was actually quite rare in those days. Our family doctor does not want to write a prescription for anything, a 10 foot-long pen is what he prefers to employ. Fortunately, we have doctors who specialize in such things if you search well enough, the mills are certainly out there as well. But this is a strange place when it comes to most anything. Very glad that the wee-thing is behaving, good to hear that it is gone!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Crohn’s disease can be nasty, by all accounts. I take it you’ve now found a doctor who employs better methods of dealing with it than a ten foot long pen? What’s the odd way you have of dealing with painkillers?

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thanks for that, Katrina. Actually, “the odd way of dealing” is likely similar to receiving an arms-length of painkillers. We had an entire family (Sackler family) working to convince prescribing physicians that the opioids in their closely-held company were not addictive. They were fined some billions of dollars for advertising their miracle pill, OxyContin.
        Speaking of Crohn’s, when I developed it in 1975 it was still a fairly rare disease without genetic ties. Since that time, it has struck my brother, his son, my son, and my grandson. Well, so much for those early theories. 🙂
        Then I found out that the most effective way for me to reduce the symptoms was by adopting a vegan diet. I find it interesting that my gastroenterologist prescribed eating large amounts of beef. I should write a blog entry on the topic. I am still the only person in our extended family to become vegan — reminds me of an early blog on being the green sheep of the family. 🙂
        Wishing you a wonderful Winter!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Do write a blog on how being vegan has eased your Crohn’s symptoms – that would be very interesting. And please re-post your blog about being the green sheep of the family 😊

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Good to hear you managed the pain sans killers. I love them when needed but have never been inclined to abuse them unlike the fermented grape which, since Covid, I’ve become far too friendly with. Hehe. Like you, I had a ‘thingy’ removed last autumn. After years of being assured it was ‘nothing’ it became ‘something’ and needed to be extracted. It was removed easily and successfully. I’ve a nasty purple (a favourite colour) scar, however. The wound reopened after the stitches were removed so it’s a tad worse than it might have been. So be it. I had no pain but am not comparing. The lip/face area is far more sensitive than a shin! Anywho, great story as always. Oh, and I hope you and the sis have a fun getaway to Dunedin. xx

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Luckily I didn’t have to manage the pain, because it never arrived. I don’t consider myself stoic enough to go without painkillers if I have pain – lol!
      The trip to Dunedin is for political reasons, but these two ol’ battleaxes enjoy a bit of a stoush sometimes 🙂

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  3. Well done on surviving post-op without pain killers. I try to avoid all drugs these days, even panadol. They all have side-effects and often don’t work anyway. Enjoy Dunedin! That’s where my husband is from. It’s a lovely little city and would be where I’d want to live if we ever moved back to NZ

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Feel free to “off topic” anytime, Bill 🙂 I can indeed see that NZ is not much more than a pimple on America’s backside – lol! Still, it’s marginally better than not being on the map at all 🙂


  4. Wonder why the docs though you’d have so much pain. I love opiate pain killers (would be an addict if not so “well behaved”). They make you feel that all is right with the world and everything’s gonna be okay, in addition to the happy numbness of body and mind. I guess the mind would have to be numb to fervently believe EGBOK.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Apparently, some people do get a lot of pain, as everyone reacts differently to the procedure. I’m not looking too deeply into why I was one of the lucky ones – just glad I was 🙂 Is Tramadol an opiate pain killer? I know it’s popular with drug users, just didn’t know why.

    Liked by 1 person

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