You'd think Christmas is a time for giving, not root canal.

Yet that's the state of play this week after a mercy dash to the dentist.

The massive pain in my denture was not mere teeth sensitivity, as first desperately hoped, and will require excavation - next week. Taking me deep into the Christmas-preparation red zone. And now paracetamol is my friend.

Talk about adding a new layer of festive cheer. And of course there are many out there doing it tougher than me. But used to be all I wanted for Christmas was my two front teeth. Now I can't wait to lose a back one.

Don't get me wrong - I love Christmas. I love the accelerating anticipation through the year that it's coming around again, soon. (Some call it dread.)

Of organising dates, and presents and food and getting the house ready and cramming all the work stuff into a mad December dash.

Juggling thoughts of rehab with end of year Christmas parties that punctuate the social calendar, testing the resolve to rise again, even though it's not Easter, but it is a time for celebration.

A theme sometimes lost and found in the hectic-ness, with varying adaptions over the years depending on the stage of life you're at, and the age and size of your family if you're fortunate to have one.

And I'm up for that because that's how I view all the great Christmases that have been, and those to come.

And generally when it's all in the rear view mirror, floating down river having passed under the bridge, like water, or Jaws - I'm brave enough to say "I enjoyed that. Let's do it again next year."

But root canal? I hadn't factored that into the schedule.

It's supposed to be Christmas recess, not abscess, and I'm still shaking my head.

Because that's what abscesses do to your head. They make it shake violently from side to side. As you contemplate the pain pulsing out of your back molar.

And compare that to the one emerging in your hip pocket.

And realise the impact it's going to have on your ability to eat nuts.

Lucky we've opted for an op-shop Xmas present theme this year.

It's the thought that counts. And I can't stop counting how much my squillion dollar dental crown will entail. Definitely off message.

Particularly as I'm giving it to myself. To paraphrase Dickens, it was the best and worst Secret Santa present ever, in terms of chewing ham.

I'm not complaining, though. As much as before the paracetamol kicked in.

I'm just thankful my dentist hadn't gone on holidays yet. He'll be able to now, though, once I settle my account. His treatment, the gift that hopefully keeps on giving.

For the time being it's put the "Christ!" into Christmas and the "dent" into dental plan.

But one day I'm sure I'll look back with a jolly "ho ho ho".