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The appointment day finally arrived. I had wangled a lift to Oban. The bus was either going to be one hour too early, or twenty minutes too late, so the lift was much appreciated.
Ten o'clock.
I was directed up to the day ward but fortunately they didn't suggest getting into bed. The nurse took my blood pressure, it was very normal. I had a book (Mudbound - very good) and two cups of tea and several warnings that it was being a bit slow.
12-30.
Eventually I was transferred to the theatre ward. I'm still in a chair but I have left the book behind, there isn't much to left read and I can tell something bad is going to happen to Ronsel. A man in overalls walks past clutching a drill and masonry bit, I hope he isn't the dentist.
1-10
It happens, I have to lie on a trolley. I want to see where I am going, they want me to lie dowm and keep my elbows in.
1-15.
I am wheeled into theatre and connected up to the blood pressure machine and some kind of monitor is put on my finger. I am covered in a blue cloth (to catch the blood?) and warned to keep my eyes shut when they turn on the bright lights (the bright lights are very bright). My mouth is jabbed with local anaesthetic, but it is far enough away from my lips so I don't go through the 'can't drink because of dribbling stage' later. The dentist asks me to move my jaw this way, I have my eyes shut but fortunately guess which is the right way. There is a crunching noise and I realise the tooth has broke and it is going to be a big job, but they turn the bright lights off and remove the blue cloth; it has no blood on it at all. My tooth is much smaller than I expected.
1-20.
I have a thick piece of antisceptic string hanging out of my mouth to soak up any blood and am wheeled through a door clearly marked not to be used for trolleys with patients. I keep my elbows well-tucked in. In the recovery room I am allowed to get off the trolley and back onto a chair. They take my blood pressure again. The piece of antisceptic string is removed and my tongue explores the new contours of my mouth.
1-30.
I walk back to the day ward. They don't take my blood pressure. I wait for a prescription: mouthwash and paracetamol.
1-45.
I leave the hospital.
I scoot round Tesco and buy chocolate and a french stick and catch the bus. The anaesthetic has worn off but I am not going to need the paracetamol, in fact I feel well enough to test the Pipers Gold all evening.
In conclusion, this particular wisdom tooth couldn't have been more accommodating if it had tried.