Going Mental about Dental

Regular readers of The Misfit will know that I used to work for a dentist.  Yes, I was the nurse who had everything (medically!) performed in her mouth by her work colleague.  I was the nurse whose boss got her so tipsy after a Christmas lunch he took great pleasure in telling all the patients booked for that afternoon (check-ups only) 'Look!  My nurse can't walk in a straight line!'  We're talking the 80's here - when stuff like that happened!

There was no fear in that surgery and a whole heap of laughs!

But over the years I lost my trust.  I became fearful.  I allowed the dentistry devils to move in.  In short, I developed a phobia which made me feel physically sick so that I couldn't actually think straight anymore.  Stupid? Yes!  Avoidable?  If, you have a logical brain, maybe.  But we are talking the The Misfit here!

So several visits to various practices and a few botched jobs later, I've been led me to the dentist of my dreams.

My last 'Demon Dentist' (no, I won't name and shame) left me with a half-broken wisdom tooth and said I'd need to be referred to the hospital for a surgical extraction.  I think the truth was, after FORTY MINUTES of wrenching, he basically gave up.  Hey!  At that point I was quite happy to leave - I'd had enough too.  (Memories of being in early labour sprung to mind - that moment when the midwives tell you to go home because nothing much is happening and you think to yourself, 'Oooh!  That's good.  I don't actually have to do this anymore!')

But of course, you DO have to deal with it eventually - rancid teeth or babies, you can't ignore them forever.  One way or another, they're coming out!

So when the euphoria of being back home died down and I realised that I still had a manky, rotten stump of an evil piece of nothingness living inside me (the tooth, not the baby!)  I knew I had to find a solution quickly.

Having been told by the 'Demon Dentist'  that there was a NINE MONTH waiting list to have the ****** removed at an NHS hospital, this was not an option!  Sheesh!  If I was young enough I could make and produce another baby during that time frame!

And so began the hunt for the 'Dream Dentist'.  Hours of Googling and panicking about what this whole nightmare was going to cost me, led me to ... (humour me here, I'm a romantic comedy writer!) my Knight in Shining Face-Mask.

From the moment I spoke to the lovely receptionist, Loretta, at Gentle Dental (now she's a lady who needs to feature in one of my books one day!) I knew I'd hit the jackpot.  Nothing was too much trouble, I wasn't a paranoid looney, I hadn't lost my marbles - I was simply a nervous patient with concerns and they were instantly dealt with.

Fast forward to the appointment with Dr Etienne after sleepless nights of imagining (at the very least) blood-shed, torture, agony, 'nee-naw'-ing ambulances and almost certain death (Drama queen? Moi?!).

From the minute I shook his hand, looked into his kind eyes and listened to his soft South African accent, I was a little bit in love.  The writer in me began scribbling notes - older love interest with a sense of humour, kind, calm, solid and dependable.

This was the man for the job!  There was no doubt in my mind.

And apart from the colly-wobbles (I'm famous for them! - think: whole body jiggles like a jelly and can't actually sit still, no matter how hard it tries!) all was well.  He ripped that ****** out in less than five minutes and did something no one has ever done before.

Yes, while under his spell, he gazed deep into my soul and explained why I shouldn't smoke for three days.  At this point I would have walked over hot coals, vowed never to have a saucy Richard Gere thought ever again or even renounced the odd glass of Pinot - and all I could do was nod, wide-eyed, and say, 'Ngggnginnggkkay' through a mouthful of cotton wads.

But, as he'd fulfilled his promise of a painless and hassle-free extraction, I kept my end of the bargain and didn't smoke.  It almost killed me (no irony intended!) but I did it.

AND ... my fear has gone.  I'm ready to start the journey to a beautiful mouth and I'm happy to become a regular visitor and undertake any procedures they throw at me.  I never would have thought I'd say that.

The Misfit is smiling!



I have not been paid to write this.  These are my thoughts and opinions on Gentle Dental, Putney, London.  If you're a local - go there!  You won't look back.

When it's best to keep quiet.

People have been asking why I've not been posting any blogs, other than FUNKY FRIDAY, and I guess I owe those loyal followers an explanation.

How do I sum this up without giving too much away or ranting?

I'm tired, sad, angry, emotional and not too much fun to be around at the moment.  I feel like I'm grieving - grieving for many things but with no actual death to show for it.  That's a funny kind of grief - but it doesn't make me laugh. And it doesn't make me want to write blogs that will draw in the crowds - no one likes a misery.

I'm just so relieved that I have my new novel under my belt and undergoing the editing process because, right now, I don't have it in me to lose myself in another world - my real one is too consuming.

In short, I take my hat off to all those carers who do it for love - it's a 24/7 job and often has little reward.  It's so hard to keep someone UP as they drag you DOWN.  It's also hard to remember that you love that person with all your heart, to not resent them and to remember to think of yourself in amongst all the other stuff you're dealing with.

I realised, on yet another sleepless night last week, that I've had a total of seven years of caring in unusual circumstances - I'm not talking just being a mum, or a daughter to an elderly parent.  In 2006 my mum had a tough time and needed to be guided through it.  As soon as she 'emerged' my son then developed school phobia and I needed to be there to see him through that.  He's now left school but I find myself back on 'Mum Duty' again.  In all of those years, I haven't had one holiday.  No, I'm not asking for you to bring out the violins, I'm simply stating the facts as they are.

I love them both - I will do anything for them.  I've proved that.  But now, I'm tired and a little bit fed up.

That's why I've not been blogging.

Thank you all so much for your support and love - whether it's been through Facebook, Twitter, emails, phone-calls, texts or lovely, little parcels.  You know who you are.

The End of an Era

Today was my 17 year old son's last day at school.  Following a week's study leave he will then just sit the last of his A levels and then his schooling will be behind him.

How on earth did this happen?  Where did those years go?  It really feels like just yesterday that I was dropping him off at nursery, with a lump in my throat and his tiny hand in mine.

FIRST DAY

Regular blog followers will know that this hasn't been an easy journey for us.  School phobia at eleven and  then fighting tooth and nail to financially afford to keep him in the private school he grew to love, have left us with a huge sense of relief and achievement (and debt!).

But nobody has achieved more than him - our lovely young man.  After missing out on a full year and two part years of education he still managed to forge friendships and come out with 9 GCSE's and 3 AS levels.  We have quiet confidence in him passing his A levels this summer - but with teens, who knows?

Would I do it it all again if I had my time over?  Aside from the crippling fear which engulfed him, hell yeah!  I believe that every sacrifice we've made has been more than worth it and we've given him the best possible start in life - what he now chooses to do with that is up to him.  And even his anxiety can be turned into a positive - if I hadn't been there in my car for three years to support him, I may never have put finger to keyboard and written my first chicklit novel.   I guess all things happen for a reason.

In fact as my son often says, 'If it hadn't been for my mad phase, you might never have become a writer.'

Yes, he is one quirky boy!

LAST DAY

So tonight, I shall raise a glass to my young man - who still doesn't drink and says he never will! - and reflect on the years which have flown by at a rate of knots.  All you mums out there with kids about to start school - love every minute because you won't believe how quickly they pass.

Now a new journey starts for my boy - job searching.  Watch this space ... 

Take a letter, Miss Misfit ...

I’ve seen the new craze going around where bloggers write snippets of letters that they know they will never send - just to get stuff off their chests.

I like this idea so I’m jumping on the bandwagon and churning out a few of my own.

Remember, these are my personal thoughts - if you can’t relate or don’t agree, piddle off and write your own.

Dear Employers

You are totally passing my husband by because of his age.  This means that you have lost out on one of the most decent and hardest workers I have ever known.

But that’s fine.  It means I’ve had him around me for longer and SOON, when everything goes OUR way, he won’t be looking for your poxy jobs anyway.

Dear Husband

You are the best (and more) than I could ever have wished for.  Every day with you brings a smile and I feel totally cherished as you promised all those years ago.  Times have been tough but together we can face anything.  I owe you an Aston Martin with bows and nipple tassels!  One day …

Dear Doubters

School phobia is very real.  This is the last time I hope I ever have to say this but it is not naughtiness, petulance, mollycoddling, ‘trying it on’, hating school - NONE of those things.  Live through it with a child or see someone experience a full-blown panic attack and then get back to me.  A slap doesn’t solve everything and this condition has not just been brought to the public’s attention because of sodding ‘Emmerdale’.  Get a grip!

Dear Son

How proud I am of you that you would come through such a difficult time and turn it into a positive - to be happy to chat to newspapers/radio and appear on TV in the hope of helping another child who is going through the same thing.  I think that says an awful lot about you.  Weird, whacky, a mind of your own and someone who will go far.

Dear Readers

Thank you so much for taking a chance on me and (mainly) loving what I do.  Every great review makes me smile so broadly, I wish you could see me when it happens.  Your words mean the world to me and spur me on to write more.  The support that you give me via blogs, email Facebook and Twitter is one of the greatest feelings ever.  Thank you.

Dear People who harm children, animals, the old or vulnerable.

No punishment is enough for you.  You will rot in hell.  Enough said.

Dear Putney Mums

You’ve been talking, I know you have.  That’s fine.  It was always going to happen.  There is no ONE individual represented in my books.  You are not Character A or Character B - but if you recognise a sprinkling of your traits in any of the people within the books’ pages, are you nice or nasty?  YOU decide!

Dear Daddy

Not your fault I know, but no girl should lose such a lovely dad at eighteen.  You are in trouble when I reach the Pearly Gates - listen out for the shouting!  Thank you for being the best and making your presence felt every day in some small way.

Dear PPI

STOP ringing me!  I don’t have any money due to me!  Do you not think I would have taken it if I had?

Dear Friend in Scotland

You are a mess and I am ashamed of you.  Thirty years of friendship is about to go down the pan as I stand by your husband and your son.  The alcohol needs to take a back seat and you have to remember that, first and foremost, you are a mother.  You have gone from ‘one classy lady’ to a candidate for the Jeremy Kyle show.  Stop and think what your parents would be saying.

Dear British Summer

We haven’t seen you for a while.  About three years?!  Get your bum into gear and hit us with a humdinger this year.  I have books to write and a garden to write them in.  What I don’t have is a passport, money to go overseas or the time to travel - I need you to deliver to my front door and this time, if you don’t, I will be writing a strong letter to The Times - enough’s enough.

Dear Family

Your mother/grandmother is not getting any younger.  Things can be left until they are too late and nobody wants that.  Do they?  We are ALL guilty in our own ways for being where we are, every one of us, and I think she deserves more.  Every single member of my family who reads this should take stock and ask themselves some questions.  Every single one.

Dear Blog Readers

Phew!  Bit of a marathon this week, wasn’t it?  If you made it this far, go and grab a cuppa or a glass of something lovely (depending on the time of day - I’d hate to encourage early boozing) and while you’re at it check out my books on Amazon!  Gotta keep that leaky old roof over our heads!

A Good Face for Radio!

Happy 2013 to all my readers!  How’s it been going for you so far?  Good, I hope, because we don’t want it any other way, do we?

A short but sweet blog this week as I wanted to keep you up to date with happenings here at Misfit House.

My year has certainly started in the right way and long may it continue.  Our New Year’s Eve was spent in the company of close friends, drinking champers, eating and taking part in a quiz.  Oh, and teaching a puppy to dance Pudsey-style but that’s a whole different story and no, there are no pictures!

And on the back of my Daily Mail article, I was offered two radio interviews.  The first was for Talk Radio Europe and it was recorded today ready to go on air tomorrow (Thursday 3^rd January) at 6pm and repeated on Sunday 6^th January at 9pm - you can eventually listen to it here.  

The second will be going out LIVE at 3pm (eek!) on BBC Radio London 94.9 this coming Friday 5^th on the Jo Good show.  The producer has told me that I’ll also be taking calls from listeners, so I fully expect to be ripped to shreds, but I welcome the chance to defend myself and my son.  Bring it on!  I’m also looking forward to a visit to the BBC studios - exciting times!  You can tune in on the radio or online here.

So, all in all, a positive start to my new year.  BOOK SIX is planned and ready to be started next week. I’m thoroughly looking forward to getting back to some sort of routine and knuckling down to get that first draft out.  The characters are ready and the stage is set - all that’s needed is for me to say ‘Curtain Up!’  And that may give you a slight clue to the book’s content.  ‘Nuff said!

So, New Year’s resolutions?  Nah!  I never bother because I don’t believe in them.  Although I've kind of been forced into one.  My goddaughter reminded me that we’d made a vow (three years ago) to have our hair permed on my 50^th birthday (February 2014) so this year’s challenge is to grow my hair!  Hubbie is NOT happy - he likes the bob too much but a godmother never goes back on a promise.

Wish me luck as I head off to my interview and, if any of you fancy ringing in, it would be great to hear a friendly voice.

I wish you all a happy and healthy 2013

'There but for the grace of God' ...

As the saying goes, ‘there’s no such thing as bad publicity’ and, after appearing in The Daily Mail yesterday, I couldn’t agree more.

Regular readers of my blog will know that I began my writing journey after my son developed school phobia and I found that I had time on my hands to read and ultimately fulfil my dream of completing a novel.  My son was crippled by his condition and, at the time, there was very little help or information - even online.  So when the opportunity to feature in a national newspaper came up, both my son and I agreed that if it could help just ONE child it would be worth it.

I’ve now had many people contact me through Facebook, Twitter and via comments on the article saying how relieved they were to read the story - that they no longer feel alone.  And, always a bonus, my book sales have rocketed and my first book ‘Diary of a Mummy Misfit’ is back to #49 in humour on Kindle.  And for those who aren't familiar with my writing, none of my books are related to my experiences with school phobia - I write humorous chicklit, which I don't think came across in the article.

On the downside … people can be so nasty!  Some of the comments made by ill-informed readers astonished me.  I don’t mind for myself, but when they’re spiteful and directed at my son, that’s when I start to see red!  Thankfully, he’s a level headed boy and has had a good laugh at them - no, he’s no the weak little weasel who likes trainspotting and hides behind his mother’s apron, as some readers seemed to think. He’s a tall and feisty 17 year old with a wicked sense of humour and a definite mind of his own.  I agree that the photos are very staged and imply that we are joined at the hip - but that’s the papers for you!

But the truly laughable comments were:

‘So sad when you see an old mum’ !!!

OK so I’m almost 50!

‘Where was the father in all this?’ / ‘Another single mother ruins a child’s life’

Did you not read the article?  It clearly states that I’m married and my husband was supportive.  Why show yourself up by commenting on something you haven’t read?

‘Why didn’t she get him counselling or attempt half days?’

Go back and have another read, love!

‘How convenient that he developed this problem in time for some publicity for a new book’

Er, excuse me, the book mentioned in the article has been published for 18 months.

‘How wordy is this article?  Did she have to hit a word target?’

This was an annoying one as, although the article had my name at the top, I didn’t write it.  This had worried me from the start but it was the only way the Mail were prepared to do it. I'd also like to add that I never agreed to the headline, 'Now she wonders if she was devoted or deluded' - this implies that I regret my decision, which I don't.

Then, of course, you have the bullies - the type who would have made other kid’s lives a misery.  The ‘clip round the ear’ / ‘give ‘em a good whacking’ type who have been fortunate enough to never suffer from feelings of fear or panic.  I wouldn’t wish it on anyone but, you my friends, can have a bloody good dose of it and rot.  And, as one reader suggested, God forbid you should ever have to be there for one of your own loved ones - you wouldn’t have the tools to cope.

Just to set the record straight, I did not mollycoddle my son when this condition started - I was a hard-hearted, mean mum who screamed, shouted and lost the plot on several occasions.  I’m not proud of that but we had no idea what we were dealing with at the time.  I helped in the library for a year (unpaid) and was on the brink of being offered a job there when the owner of the school decided against employing a mum - so, to all those who implied I was a lazy middle class cow who was happy to sit in my car and file my nails, remember newspaper articles never print all the facts.

It’s so easy to judge, isn’t it?  We all do it - I’ve been guilty of it in the past.  I can fully accept that there will be many people who will totally disagree with the way that this problem was dealt with, but they haven’t lived through it or walked in my shoes.  I have no problem with reading people’s opinions but is there ever any excuse for such vitriol?  I wonder if it makes these trolls feel good?

So … would I do it again?  Hell yeah!  As long as my son is OK with nutters’ views, then I’m happy and all we’ll do is focus on the positive comments and hope that we can continue to help other kids and parents.

And if you are one of those people who go round, willy-nilly, leaving vile words - stop and think before you type.  Or maybe just try getting a life!