Happy New Year from someone delighted to see the back of 2023.
It wisnae the best year for me, thanks to a few health hassles, the main one kicking off around September. I suffer the occasional mouth ulcer, but ower summer one to the side and just under my tongue kept coming and going.
I bombarded it with Bonjela and various other potions. Even showed it to the pharmacist wifie, who suggested I consult the dentist. Panic, panic. He reckoned he was “pretty sure” it was a “trauma” ulcer caused by a nearby chipped tooth.
As it happened, the hygienist had alerted me to this tooth a few months before, saying it needed fixed. But, when I told the dentist back then, he reckoned it was OK without treatment. However, now he was telling me that tooth was causing this ongoing ulcer. Great stuff.
Then came the words which really floored me: “Best to get a biopsy. I’ll take a photograph and refer you to the maxillofacial department at ARI.” Well, that was me. Worst-possible scenario punching me in the gut.
When I got outside, I could hardly walk; my legs were shaking – in fact, the whole of me was. I know so many of you have been through the same, paralysing fear.
The appointment came through in only a few days – for about 10 days off: Friday the 13th. Fit else? Thanks so much to family and friends for trying to reassure me, but my mind kept rehearsing the worst-possible outcome. Barely a wink of sleep.
Dealing with the Rubislaw Quarry in my tongue
My loon came with me on the day. As my name was read out, the nurse said, cheerily: “How are you today?” Here’s me: “Absolutely terrified.” Here’s her: “Well, it’s best to be honest with us.”
There, on a telly screen in the room, was a huge picture of my tongue. Sez the surgeon wifie: “I’m 99% sure that’s an ulcer caused by a trauma.” Sure enough, she identified the chipped tooth. Next thing, what looked to me in my terror like the biggest needle in the world was heading for my peer tongue.
After a few minties, she said: “That’s it.” Here’s me, hugely relieved and startin’ to stand up: “That didna tak’ long.” The wifie, with a wee laugh: “That was just the anaesthetic.”
Then howkin’. No pain, but still… aaargh. I thought she was just taking a sample of the ulcer – in fact, she gouged oot the hale thing. Mummy, daddy.
Relieved that she was so convinced there was nothing serious, I home on a high. However, ower the weekend I was in agony. Why? Because that ruddy chipped tooth was still there, probing awa’ at the Rubislaw Quarry in my tongue.
An emergency appointment at the dentist on the Monday to get it filed doon. Still torture two weeks later, me hardly spikkin’ and livin’ on porridge and soup. Back to ARI to check it wasnae infected. Sez the doc: “No. It’s just that the tongue is difficult to heal because it’s always moving (me?) and surrounded in moisture.”
I still don’t know the final outcome. Only last week did I get a letter saying I’ve a telephone appointment this month to get the result of the biopsy. I’m pretty sure it must be OK. But all you folks who’ve undergone that agony of discovering something is seriously wrong, I deeply admire your courage. To each of you, all the best for 2024.
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press and Journal, and started her journalism career in 1970
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