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.