The drugs don't work

Whilst I'm not exactly Brad Pitt, I am not usually concerned about showing my face in public. Not this morning though; I could do with a big paper bag to put over my head before I venture out in public. I am hideous.
A few days ago I felt a painful twinge as I bit into a ginger nut (nothing to do with Prince Harry in Vegas). My usual reaction to any bodily imperfection is just to ignore it. This twinge turned out to be an abscess that is currently growing to the size of an orange. Consequently, the left side of my face now looks like an unholy contortion of Timothy Spall, Marlon Brando in 'The Godfather', Monty Python's Mr. Creosote and a puffer fish. In my teens I could never have been a Goth because I couldn't suck my cheeks in enough, but at the moment I just look ridiculous.
I'm all for telling Jane to see a doctor if she is not well but, hypocritically, I won't take such advice myself.
Over the past few days my pupils have looked at me anxiously as my face continued to swell, and I have abstained from ginger biscuits. My personal philosophy is to 'grin and bear it'. Unfortunately, it has got to the point where, even if I could grin, I would probably look like some grotesque Halloween pumpkin and, last night, it got to the point where I could no longer bear it.
At the Argyll Quiz last night a member of our team looked me over.
"Looks nasty. Is it painful?"
"It's OK," (I'm such a martyr) "I've got some painkillers."
"Are they working?"
"No."
She looked around the room, "Here," she whispered, "try some of these." and she handed me a strip of pills.
"What are they?" I asked.
"They'll take away the pain." she answered vaguely.
Another member of the team went to the bar and came back with a whisky.
"Sloosh it around your mouth." she suggested.
"Can't I drink it?"
"Yes, but sloosh it first."
The whisky tasted very nice, the pills were disgusting. Neither did anything to take the pain away.
So, after grimacing my way through the first lesson, I was straight on the phone to the NHS dental hotline. I would like to have called a vet and asked them to put me down, but I was fairly sure they wouldn't oblige.
"Can you get to Lochinver?" they asked. I could, but it was nearly an hour further north, meaning I would be 2½ hours away from my afternoon lessons. There is no alternative. I will have to go.

(Later in the day) So I drove to the dentist at Lochinver. And very good they were too. I don't know what they injected me with, but it must have been pretty strong. I was aware of him applying considerable force to pull my tooth out, but I couldn't feel even the slightest twinge of pain..
..until the drive home.
The Assynt scenery between Lochinver and Ullapool is surely amongst the finest in the world. The sky was pure blue, the sun was shining brightly. I was as happy as could be, relieved that my toothache had gone. Then the numbing effect of the injections began to fade. JESUS! THE PAIN!!! I don't ever remember pain like it. The pain gradually increased until I was seriously wanting to turn around, go back to the dentist, and ask him to put the tooth back in... Anything to take away the agony. I stopped the car, I just couldn't concentrate on driving. I popped two of my painkillers and two of the pills that I had been given last night. I just wanted to curl up in the back of my car and sleep until the pain went. But I had lessons to get to. The sensible thing would have been to cancel the afternoon's lessons, but two of them were brand new pupils, so I really didn't want to.
Fortunately, as I neared Forres, the pills were finally kicking in. I explained to my new pupils that I don't normally look like this, but I didn't care what they thought I looked like, I was just relieved that I was able to concentrate on the lessons.
Never again. I'm not religious, but I'll believe in any god you like if it means I never have to go through that again. Either that or I find a quiz team with some decent drugs.