Poor Finn. He’s got an abscess that is making him sad. The abscess under the tooth that has split: the one the dentist told me he wouldn’t attempt to remove without referring him to a cleverer dentist first who will then put my babba to sleep and remove the naughty tooth in hospital.

Those meercats were lying. Nothing is ever “simples”. Not when it comes to Finn.

Because what should be a simple matter has turned into an orgy of four sleepless nights fuelled by the kind of hunger campaign a child who already has zero interest in food, is forced into when anything other than scrambly egg and Heinz Tomato soup make him shed big fat sorry tears.

So here I am. Wearing my nurses hat again. Spooning penicillin into him and hoping that the dentist is right: that three years of a mysterious case of swollen glands and “fatface” were not a case of perpetual mumps but were in fact down to this. And that yes indeed, a child diagnosed with Celiacs disease at a very early age will be prone to teeth problems, let alone the sensory issues and central nervous system damage I have long suspected are all part and parcel of the same thing.

The poor little mite. Still he’s rallying. He’s probably got banana smoothies and hot chocolate pulsing through his veins by now. He’s watching one Doctor who episode after another, and he has of course got his dear Mummy on toast so eager am I to offset the misery of toothache with all manner of shenanigans and sick-room themed puttery treats.

Fingers crossed he gets better soon. We could both use some sleep!