Yesterday I had a rather uncomfortable experience. I was laid back in a dentist’s chair and made to stick my tongue out. Then, a doctor who didn’t speak much took out a HUGE needle and started stabbing my tongue with it. After several prods, he then did something and asked me if it hurt. On my answering in the negative, he chopped off the irritating polyp and then started sewing the flesh back together, confirming these were the type of stitches that disintegrate after a couple of weeks. I answered by making some sort of gurgling noise (the best I could do in the situation I was in).
I had closed my eyes throughout.
When he was finished, he marched out of the room and I never saw him again, leaving me to a couple of nurses who told me to sit up and just relax a bit. My tongue was obviously still numb from the anaesthetic, I remarked to the nurses that it felt like I had a gobstopper-sized ball of flesh in my mouth, or a coiled lizard-like tongue and could probably catch a fly off one of the walls - which they chuckled along to politely.
After a while and armed with a pamphlet (“So You’ve Had Part Of Your Tongue Chopped Off”) and a form for my doctor, I was on my way home. After about an hour, the pain, was… memorable, but thank goodness for the wonderful people who invented paracetamol and ibuprofen. Thank goodness. Part of my stitching came out that evening, which worried my slightly, but the wound didn’t open up. I slept fine, but had only consumed a couple of protein shakes throughout the evening that my wonderful wife had bought for me (along with the painkillers).
Today, I am really hungry, but afraid of eating anything. I even had to turn down the traditional Friday bacon butty. So glad I didn’t have this done before Christmas as was originally planned.
