Wisdom Tooth Haemorrhoids #WisdomTooth #Haemorrhoids #Hemorrhoids #Dentistry


After six months of my face ballooning, and my diet largely being made up of antibiotics, I had all of my wisdom teeth taken out last week. I was really not keen on getting it done as I had a fear they were accidentally going to nick my inferior alveolar nerve nerve and paralyse my face. But it had to be done.

Seven days later:

  • Yes, my tooth socket areas hurt a lot.
  • Yes, they necessarily did a hatchet job on my gums, which also hurt.
  • Yes, my mouth is riddled with infections and what are known as “major” ulcers.
  • Yes, an extremely limited liquid diet, so as to not agitate the tooth sockets or the ulcers, is boring the hell out of me.

But the worst bit about having all of my wisdom teeth out? The haemorrhoids.

That’s a worry that didn’t cross my mind, pre-op.

But with a diet consisting wholly of water, yoghurt, ice lollies, and cold cream of tomato soup (the last turns out to be a no-no as it is making my infection worse!), I am simply unable to poo.

I’ve never had that problem before. A slightly excessive amount of coffee, chilli, and Jakeman’s sweets, has meant my bumhole has always been thoroughly lubricated, and my plop healthily medium soft.

But now I am laying actual bricks.

Yet I can’t lay them.

The lavvy routine is the same each time. The jagged, baby-sized turd very slowly creeps down my bot-canal. It stretches my rim till tears fill my eyes. Yet it won’t come out. My arse ring just contracts further and further, yet there’s no epidural to hand, and no sign of my red baby’s head.

The only way to get the crap packet out of my bleeding rear eye is to rhythmically clench my butt cheeks and breaks little pieces of dung off, and then suck the vitriolic little shit back up into my rectum. I’ve been chiselling away at this bum boulder in this manner for a day now.

Solutions? No idea. The laxatives aren’t working. I just never thought I’d get piles from having my teeth out.

© 2016 Bryan A. J. Parry

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Two Thirds of a Pint

imageWent to The Draft House pub in Hammersmith (W6 7NL) yesterday with a mate. No sooner had we found a good space in the beer garden, than a floppy-haired tattoo-sleeve-wearing barman flounced over with a vintage clipboard and antique paper menu with brews bearing such names as “Aprigot [not a spelling mistake] Sour Apricot”. Before we could get over the strange unpubiness of all this, we were asked if we would like pints, halves, two-thirds of a pint, or one third of a pint.

What on earth?

Being married to a Spaniard, I’m used to the concept of tiny, shot-like glasses of beer: the caña, the zurito. But I’d never seen it in England. However, I think the concept will catch on; there’s a real niche for smaller-than-pint sizes of beer.

But will the name “two thirds of a pint” catch on? Unlikely.

I unilaterally dubbed this measure, the “two’th” or “tooth” — as in “two th[irds of a pint]”. A much catchier alternative. So we spent all night ordering “tooths”, and we spent all night not being understood. We feigned confusion: ‘You know: tooths. It’s what we call two-thirds-of-a-pint round my manor, guv’.

One third is known as a “one-fer” (‘one thir[d]’ in a London accent) or a “toothless”.

Go to a pub and order some “tooths” today! Free fun!

© 2015 Bryan A. J. Parry