Passing out in style

Thursday, May 14 09

Mrs Bennet needn’t have worried about having an emotional torrent in the dentist's chair. She did much worse. Seven weeks ago, as she sat in the reclining position, to her horror she cried. Jannie had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. Having held the tears back like a dam, to protect the children, unfortunately the only time there wasn’t a small person around, was in the dentist’s chair. And as the dentist pressed the button to tilt her backwards, he must have unlocked the floodgate. And the floods came, preventing him from removing the poorly tooth which had caused Mrs Bennet grief for almost 10 months, due to a festering abscess. Seven weeks later, Mrs Bennet was back, feeling calm and ready for pain. She’d given birth to five children without pain relief, so she could surely manage a tooth extraction.
Two injections later, all was well - until Mrs Bennet could see the instruments and started imagining what the dentist was doing. It was like watching a gardener attacking the roots of stubborn vegetables; only it was her roots he was dealing with. Her jaw felt like it was being yanked from its socket. She suddenly felt hot, her ears seemed to block out sound and the voices in the room were scarily quiet. She managed an “I don’t feel right,” and the next thing she knew her pulse was being taken, the seat lowered and the operation stopped. Mrs Bennet was horrified. How embarrassing. The procedure would have to continue next week. In the meantime her tooth was now slightly dislodged and as she drove home, a glucose tablet and glass of water later, bits of it started falling off. This was not going to be a fun week. A week of throbbing gums and anxious waiting for yet another visit to the dentist's chair. It was also going to be a week of Darcys in the Dirt ripping up tiles, plastering, plumbing, drilling and banging for all they were worth in order to finish their deadline, which was next Friday. Mr Bennet had ordered the carpet fitters to come the week after, so the Darcys had to finish all the major building work. Mr No Personality surveyor was due to visit the bite-size Pemberley in the coming weeks and unless he was satisfied, the money needed to pay for the work, would stay sitting in the building society. It had felt like Changing Rooms in the past few days and Mrs Bennet half expected Carole Smilie to pop into the kitchen for a much-needed cuppa. Mrs Bennet needed vodka or something similar right now. But thought better of it. Alcohol mixed with anaesthetic might not be such a good idea.
Instead she dosed herself up with paracetamol and spent the next three hours writing. It was the only thing which took her mind off into a different world. It provided a window into a space that was her own. Mrs Bennet was surrounded by chaos, but once she started tapping at the computer keys, she could block out dust, muddle and mess and write something which had a beginning, middle and an end. She knew bite-size Pemberley was almost there, but like her half extracted tooth, it wasn’t there yet. And she suspected it would get worse before it got better. Once done though, the space and the relief of coming through nine months of mayhem would be great. Would it be worth it? Yes. Would she go through it again? Definitely not.