“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened” Dr.Seuss
I’ve got a list labelled ‘Rewards for Future Nick’, some slaps on the back in lieu for all good deeds done. Unfortunately, there is also a growing ‘Get Off Your Arse and Do’ list for Future Nick to accomplish. But for now, having just completed a month of yoga, which also entailed a month of healthy eating (read: a month off the booze), the GF and I are due some well earned rewards. Bonus, we find ourselves on the beach in Goa with a week of relaxation up our sleeves.
High, high up on the rewards list is an overdue re-tox. I’m dreaming of sparkling wine at sunset, Sula being the local Indian supplier, followed by a cleansing Goan Kings brewski or two, complemented with something fresh from the tandoori. They’ve actually got a rapidly growing wine industry in India with some great producers of plonk … but back to the story.
Feet in the sand, sun setting over the sea and a month (I may remind you of this a few times) off the booze, the glass in front of me is full of tantalising bubbles, mere moments from my mouth.
A long overdue “Cheers” is said in earnest, coinciding with that magical sound of glasses chink-chinking.
I inch the nectar upwards.
“A quick toast”, the GF announces. The glass will have to wait, but hey what’s another second or two after a month off the booze (you were warned).
“I’m just so proud of you”, she states, glass held high. “Proud that you fully committed to the whole month. Thank-you.”
The glass is getting warm. The sun is touching the ocean. I need to reply. Something short.
Glassware is re-clinked.
Then, intuition takes over.
Hand grabs glass, arm lifts hand, glass touches mouth, liquid begins to flow.
“Aaaarrgghhh!”, I scream.
I’m the first to admit I’m a baby when it comes to pain, but this is something else. A shooting sensation has just run straight through my front tooth, piercing my brain. I drop the glass as both hands reach up and cover my mouth.
The GF gulps whilst peering over the rim of her glass. She’s staring wide eyed at me in agony. She gulps again. Then gulps once more, finally asking after my well being.
My well being is not good.
Luckily, Goa is renowned for its dentists, and within ten minutes by rickshaw I’m lying flat on my back, in the dental chair, sober as a judge, mouth wide open.
Dentist goes tap, tap, tap.
I go aargh, ow, OUCH!
Seems there is a ‘minor emergency’, his words not mine.
Now is probably a good time to confess that seeing a dentist was THE top of my ‘Get Off Your Arse and Do’ list, as I had been experiencing and ignoring some discomfort for some time.
After a revealing X-Ray, a brief consultation, a local anaesthetic, and on my request a second local just for good measure, the dentist pulls the front tooth clean out of my head, and with it a huge cyst is drained, GROSS, and I’m prescribed a week of antibiotics.
‘You will no longer be in pain,” I was reassured. “Just remember, no drinking with the antibiotics this week”.
I can only, barely, smile.