Two moments in recent days have left me feeling defeated.  The first was being told that my decision not to seek dental treatment while on Zometa was flawed.  There’s a risk of infection in the giant cavity that opened up when a rogue Toffee Crisp removed the filling.

I think I wanted Oncobabe to refer me to the hospital’s dentist.  I never got around to changing dentists when I moved and being given a terminal diagnosis didn’t encourage me to try any harder.

But I was sent away with instructions to sort myself out.  And I promptly got home and forgot.  Friday was a tough day too, and my continued amnesia on dental matters, while not a good idea, was a reality.

Now I wake up and find a note telling me that somebody has crashed into my car while I slept.  Granted, there’s snow and ice on the road.  I’ve not inspected the damage yet.  Hopefully the car is still secure and capable of getting over to Oldham and Anglesey tomorrow.

But I feel utterly defeated by these two moments.  I don’t want the hassle of sorting out dentistry.  And kudos to the chap who drove into my car for shoving a note of admission through the door, but I really don’t want to have to deal with an insurance claim again.  Lose my car for a week.  Turning up at hospitals in courtesy cars.

Its not a good sign.  In the great scheme of things these things are minor.  But I really could do without this shit right now.

My Date With Oncopooj