hot beans

i'n case you didn't gather, i'd like to publicly announce that this is no longer a fashion/diana's life blog, but now my little corner of the interweb devoted purely to discussing my medical conditions.  and if we're going to get even more specific, four teeth i no longer even own.

ok, now that that's out of the way...

i went back to the oral surgeon today because my boyfriend was a bit concerned with the amount of mashed potato that would accumulate on my chin as i ate, before it either:

a) was noticed, and brushed off, or 

b) fell on to my american apparel top.  (ooh!  fashion reference!)  (but that was actually only to be comical, witty, and slightly ironic.) 

actually, to be honest with you, it was never option "a."  

i just wrote that to feel better about myself.

anyway, i haven't been aiming too well with the spoon lately, which becomes even more of an issue when you combine it with the fact that i still can't feel the lower left half of my face. 

at all.

as in, not a bit.

i would catch mike staring at me as i gummed my jello, a look of pure horror mixed with a little bit of "do i really want to be in a long term relationship at this point in my life?"  to which i would respond with the ever-popular "what?!?!" and he would shake himself from his daze and say, "oh nothing...  i was just thinking about how much i love you."

whatever dude.  

i know you want up on my granny foods.

so i called the oral surgeon.

i say, "i can't feel my face."

the receptionist says, "who is this?"

i divulge.

he says, "oh.  that's not good.  you should feel your face by now.  you need to come in immediately.  tomorrow."

(that's not immediately.)

when the receptionist knows it's not good, the first thing that pops into my mind is, 

"oh.  that's not good."

so i go back to the surgical center this morning, and the first thing they say is, "well, you have two dry sockets."

for any of you who don't know what that is, i'll tell you.

a dry socket is when raw bone is just hanging out in your mouth by itself 'cause the bacteria has decided to eat the blood clots.  (um, scabs.)

it hurts.

but modern medical advances have found that a really good way to deal with that is to take scratchy pieces of cotton that have been marinating for a couple of centuries in a foul flavored juice, and cram them into the hole with the pointiest tool you have ever seen in your life.

it's very cutting edge.

i cried, but i told them that it was with joy.

then the surgeon gives me a kleenex and the nurse reaches over to hold my hand.

(this is creepy, ok?)

after a moment of staring at me, he says, 

"well, you have a very rare nerve injury as a result of the surgery.  you can't feel the bottom left side of your face."

"really?"

"now, 90 percent of the time this happens, patients DO eventually regain sensation in their face..."

cool.

"but this could take many weeks - or even months - before you have feeling again...  and then there is that 10 percent..."

so i could be pollock-ing up my chin every time i eat for the rest of my life?

he does, however, end this conversation on a bright note:

"well, at least it doesn't affect your looks!"

cool.  so due to the fact that the surrounding muscles are still raring to go, the left half of my face does not just hang there, sullen and un-cooperative, like the cool kids on the bus on field-trip day in junior high. i'm glad i can still smile and open my lips wide enough to spit at people.

i guess i don't really NEED to know when i dribble taco sauce down my chin at a business lunch, or bite into something hard and chip my teeth, or crack my lip open to the point of bleeding because i can't TELL that it's chapped.  never mind the intensely creepy sensation of not being able to feel your face, or the raging urges to smash my head against a brick wall when an itch starts deep in my skin but i can't scratch it because i can't feel it.

never mind that i have to kiss my boyfriend good night with the right side of my face because i can't tell if i'm forcefully ramming his head back when i attempt it with the left.

at least i it's not affecting my looks.

i don't mean to sound so bitter.  

bitterness doesn't get me anywhere, and out of all the medical risks involved in living, i am incredibly lucky that the one i stumbled into does not affect my ability to work, or participate in the things that i love (well, other than eating, and kissing a certain boy good night...)

i can't help feeling a little offended though - offended that this happened to me.

and that's silly, when you really think about it, because all the things out there waiting to happen - good and bad - they're waiting to happen to someone.

Comments

[Missa]

THAT SUCKS. You poor girl, how awful and what a fucked up thing for your surgeon to say! I love that you are able to convey the situation with such humor though. Your posts always make me laugh! I'm totally sending you magical healing thoughts to help bring the feeling back to your face :)

P.S. I love the term pollock-ing and thanks for featuring my feet on Painfully Hip (now that's not something I ever imagined myself saying;)