my life as a artist
anti-anti-life
Tuesday 22nd December 2009 10:42 PM
A concerned Jono comments;
'Don't be a wimp, go to the dentist before your dental abscess infects your heart and damages your valves. I don't want to scare you but this is serious shit and it won't go away with Bach rescue remedies.'
Thanks for caring Jono, and also for reminding me about Bach flower remedies. Since your comment I've been adding a few drops to my thrice-daily warm salt-water mouth-wash, along with a thrilling dash of iodine, and I do believe it's helping the healing process.
I've always found with any enemy that it's good to try and establish some sort of relationship, so as I swill, besides offering thankful prayers of love and gratitude for the existence of love and gratitude, I also extend seasonal good-will towards the abscess. I thank it for teaching me about oral hygiene and giving me the chance to try so many delicious mouth-washes, and then after a bit of small talk, we reminisce about the good times.
In the early days, when my sad, pus-filled friend was a young, vibrant, almost coquettish tissue cell, she was basically just potential, and in my opinion all the cuter for it. We lived in happy symbiosis then, carefree and gay, me a struggling artist and her a microscopic hint of infection, both of us united in our search for expression. When the moment's right I remind her of that blessed state, and encourage her to shrink.
I'm aware that some folk may think that my approach to this abscess- healing is just so much ill-conceived, over-idealistic, airy-fairy, flibberty-gibberty, shilly-shallying, namby-pamby, lentil-pie-in-the-sky poppycock, and that I'd be better off attack, attack, attacking it with antibiotics. However, once, in a luminous arctic dream, on the frozen tundra, under a midnight sun, in my underpants and yet strangely warm, I found myself playing Frisbee with a talking elk called Susan, who had a degree in medicine and a firm belief in the primacy of spirit.
She told me that the human body is designed to self-heal, and that viruses and bacteria are actually our friends. They eat up garbage inside, like crows and maggots clean up corpses outside, and so while present at the incident, your honour, they're not the actual cause of it, and the idea of sending in antibiotic storm-troopers to indiscriminately slaughter them is a cruel, irrational and destructive dollop of veal-pie-in the-sky plop.
She said these things with such conviction, that even though they were delivered in a Beckhamesque, squeaky Leytonstone accent, I believed her. The fact that I now value the opinion of a talking elk called Susan, that I met once in a dream, over that of my doctor, says so much about so many things. If the infection should prove resistant to my love-bombing, and grows, I'll cut it out and sell it to Heston Blumenthal, who I've heard does a mean abscess and whale vomit pie.
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I wonder if the talking elk vision was induced by the poisons that are produced as a biological side effect of the battle in your gums.
A dentist would likely, in my own experience, prescribe metronidazole. It works, really well, in a day or so.
However it is one of the antibiotics that you really should not drink with. That gave me a rare week without a drink.
Other methods I have tried include poking a cocktail stick soaked in TCP into the gum, very deep brushing, and the wonderful
Posted by Francis , on Wednesday 23rd December 2009, 5:45 PM
Hmmm. So the abscess is a 'she'! The feministas aren't going to like that.
Forget antibiotics, go for the deep root canal drilling and have 'her' drained. Avoid drinking hot tea whilst your mouth is still anaesthetised because when it wears off, your tongue will feel like it's been ironed.
Merry Christmas my good poet.
p.s. validation word is rabbi (is that the Scottish poet or the religeous guy?)
Posted by John (aka Jonault aka Jono) , on Wednesday 23rd December 2009, 10:35 AM
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