In November I became aware of a large swelling in my mouth. Now some friends had kindly suggested that it was probably just my tongue but I knew there was more to it and indeed there was. One of my canine tusks was also rather tender so I repaired, unwillingly, to my dentist. Now Kojak is very good at regular dental inspections, dear reader, but I am one of those who have a white knuckled grip on the chair before the orthodontist even says "hello". It transpired that my worst fears had been realised. I needed root canal treatment on one of the very fangs that Count Dracula would have counted as essential to carry out his nocturnal proclivities. There was much drilling and cleaning out - I cannot bear to go into details of such trauma. Suffice to say that despite the dental work being completed satisfactorily, the large abscess still stubbornly refused to go down even after a couple of courses of antibiotices. The dentist sadly informed me that hospital treatment would be needed.
A few weeks later I received a letter from the hospital with mixed information. The good news was that the Oral Surgery Dept. were to make an appointment. The not so good news was that there was a five week waiting list. Given that the festive season was almost upon us and the size of the abscess was seriously limiting my capacity for tasty Christmas fare I hastened to the hospital's Accident & Emergency Department in the big city of Preston. I found myself in the, sadly, not unfamiliar game of Medical Musical Chairs. Details were taken by a clerk, after an hour, further details were taken by a triage nurse and after 2 hours a junior doctor saw me in an office (no treatment bays available). Off she went to ask her senior doctor and came back with a prescription for yet more pills as in their opinion the ailment wasn't serious enough for immediate treatment. I set off up to God's own County of Durham for the Festive season. Naturally the new pills did absolutely nothing so I spent a rather one-sided Christmas carefully eating my turkey and Christmas pud with the right-hand side of my mouth.
On February 8th I finally saw a consultant who announced, after x-rays involving more musical chairs, that the infection was so deeply rooted it would involve an operation under a general anaesthetic. He recognised the long delay in treatment and promised he would do his best to hasten things. True to his word I presented myself at the big city hospital at 3,30pm on February 22nd after the usual starvation preparation involving food and liquid. There was also a cigarette ban which caused Kojak most anxiety. After being directed to the ward day room I sat... and sat... until after an hour I was seen by the first of 4 medical staff in intervals of several hours. It was 10.30pm when I awoke from the anaesthetic. I was conscious of the fact that my sainted pal Ian was on standby to give me a lift home. First I had to prove that I could eat something without throwing up and also dermonstrate that my bladder was in working order. This rather worried me as I'd had no liquids for most of the day and being a gentleman of a certain age such things can be er... erratic. I demolished a jug of water , refused the proffered toast - toast? after a mouth and jaw operation before which the surgeon recommended soft foods for 3 days? At that time of night all they had was a portion of "Oats So Simple, Golden Syrup flavour". I have to say that I prefer the real thing! By this time it was 11.30 and Ian was avoiding car parking charges by furtively moving his car about the nether regions of the hospital, no doubt being tracked by security cameras. Having demonstrated digestive and bladder successes I informed the nurse that I was ready to leave. She then advised that as I had no-one to look after me at home for the next 24 hours I could not be discharged. Now all this information was already in my notes and the admission letter only mentioned that I should not drive. A further delay was that I needed a doctor to sign my discharge and one would not be available for at least 30 minutes. Rather fed up with all this and conscious of the fact that they had a severe shortage of beds I decided to discharge myself, signing the form warning me of possible death from bleeding, possible infection, bird flu or bubonic plague.
Summoning Ian from his hiding place I made my escape. Returning to Chez Kojak there was a minor scuffle for the bathroom as both of us had been denied it due to taxi duties and excessive consumption of water to satisfy post-operation tests.
