Facial Awareness - Part I
Just over two weeks ago, I had a bilateral osteotomy/ orthognathic surgery ... That is, double jaw surgery to correct my under-bite for those of us who don't speak Spanish. This follows an 18 month stint with braces - a process that was started by my dentist, when I made the cardinal mistake of joining a new practice in 2011.
When I was a teenager I had braces and when i got them off, aged 15, they told me that they planned to put braces BACK ON and then do this surgery once I was fully grown. At the time, i did what any self-respecting teenager does and throws a strop/rebels/ran screaming from the building and told them where to shove their operation. I was told by my (very wise and lovely) mum that I would probably have to get it done at some point. Aged 28 (in 2011), that time was upon me.
I wanted to share this journey and give some insight into what it was/is like. So far it has been, without doubt, the weirdest experience of my life. Though I have been building up to this for years, no amount of time or discussion or planning could have prepared me for what was to happen.
brave - adj.
1. Possessing or displaying courage; valiant.2. Making a fine display; impressive or showy: "a coat of brave red lipstick on a mouth so wrinkled that it didn't even have a clear outline"3. Excellent; great: "The Romans were like brothers/In the brave days of old"
None of that resonates with my inner feelings. However, it is lovely that people believe i have conducted myself in such a way as to appear brave. I feel that this is a small triumph in a tough situation.
My operation was on Tuesday 23rd April but began the day before when i had to check myself into the Glasgow Southern General. I mostly felt bemused, somewhat foolish and a little guilty at taking up a hospital bed as I was very much a healthy person with little wrong with me (other than my personal brand of weirdness which remains intact!).
I spent the day joking with my mum about sinister happenings in the hospital (which we made up) based on some suspicious activity we had encountered: a lone bag of belongings, a wandering man making phonecalls, a barely perceptible yet invisible radio which i could hear from the area around my bed. I even started a personal (and i'd like to think hilarious) log of 'suspicious' activity to keep me occupied as we waited all day for blood tests and a chat with the surgeon. We chatted about how hospitals are really not as good in real life as they are on TV ( A-la 'Grey's Anatomy' - No McDreamys or McSteamys in sight!) and the high point of the day was someone getting stuck in a lift. They had to call a janitor to rescue the unfortunate woman and a harassed-looking nurse lamented the fact that it wasn't her stuck in the lift for a "wee break" from her long shift. Happy days.
During this time it was decided that even though I was 'nil by mouth' from 9pm onward, they would give me some really lovely* (*bloody awful) lemon flavour carbohydrate drinks that would apparently help me recover more quickly from surgery. MMM Yummy. I eyed it cautiously for a second until my dad reminded me of the fact that i had 'probably drunk worse'. Thanks dad.
Eventually the day passed and my mum/dad were kicked out after visiting hours by the sound of an actual bell, rung by hand (from days of yore, i expect). I faffed around trying to keep busy and the nurse came round and placed some items on the table by my bed for me to put on in the morning.
They were:
- surgical stockings - Ostensibly these are stockings which are meant to help you avoid blood clots whilst you are laying inactive for a period of time on a table during surgery - they were thick and white and came up to the top of my thighs and felt more like stockings meant to CUT OFF the circulation due to the thickness of the material. Pretty grim.
- paper pants - Yes, exactly as sexy as you might imagine. Shaped like baggy granny pants with thin elastic that goes around your middle, imitating a sort of see-through paper nappy.
- a surgical gown - NHS standard issue white gown with attractive green blotches. You know, the ones which are open at the back to inevitably show your paper pants and white stockings combo and strip you of any dignity you may have left.
- a paper hat - Not sure if this was standard procedure or whether they just did some research about me and realised i like hats. This one, not so much. Think 'bandana'/Derek Sheppard's-ferry-boat-hat (if you're into GA) in a fetching green colour which matched the blotches on my gown. Smashing.
At that point, the reality began to sink in and the gravity of my situation became apparent. I was suddenly terrified and, despite my best attempts to stay positive, cried silently in my bed as i waited for the hours to pass until they came to take me downstairs.
The waiting was torture but eventually it was time to get on a gurney (without flashing my paper pants) to be taken downstairs. This felt particularly awkward because the bed was taken down in a lift by a porter whilst a nurse accompanied us. I could have walked... but no, I played the game and just reclined in a leisurely fashion, pretending that this was a normal, every day occurrence.
Of course, in true comedy style, the lift was full of people who were just coming in to start their shifts in the hospital. Bleary eyed and cynical, they were clearly trying not to stare at me whilst silently guessing what i might be in for. I tried to alleviate the stress of the weirdness by making small talk with the nurse about hats. She got quite into it as we made our way into the pre-operating theatre/backstage area - you know, where all the nurses/groupies hang out waiting for the rockstar surgeons.
This made for another vaguely awkward situation because as we arrived in the area, both having a good chortle (is it grammatically possible to have a good chortle?) about hats, we somehow offended the handover nurse who was waiting for us. Who knows, maybe he just didn't enjoy hats. Or chat about hats. Or laughter. In any case, there was a bit of a frosty reception which didn't do anything to alleviate my rising panic.
The next few minutes seemed really long and I remember frantically trying to remain buoyant and happy, even though my brain was reading a little obituary to itself. I don't know what the brain thinks it is doing in these situations, but mine has a particularly wicked streak - it was humming the death march as i tried to ignore it and answer questions about myself.
Finally, I was moved round to a small room where the anesthetists (or anaesthesiologists as I had been calling them... An improvement to their job title I feel!) did their thing. They told me to think about something nice as they sent me off to sleep... and boom - I was out like a light.
The waiting was torture but eventually it was time to get on a gurney (without flashing my paper pants) to be taken downstairs. This felt particularly awkward because the bed was taken down in a lift by a porter whilst a nurse accompanied us. I could have walked... but no, I played the game and just reclined in a leisurely fashion, pretending that this was a normal, every day occurrence.
Of course, in true comedy style, the lift was full of people who were just coming in to start their shifts in the hospital. Bleary eyed and cynical, they were clearly trying not to stare at me whilst silently guessing what i might be in for. I tried to alleviate the stress of the weirdness by making small talk with the nurse about hats. She got quite into it as we made our way into the pre-operating theatre/backstage area - you know, where all the nurses/groupies hang out waiting for the rockstar surgeons.
This made for another vaguely awkward situation because as we arrived in the area, both having a good chortle (is it grammatically possible to have a good chortle?) about hats, we somehow offended the handover nurse who was waiting for us. Who knows, maybe he just didn't enjoy hats. Or chat about hats. Or laughter. In any case, there was a bit of a frosty reception which didn't do anything to alleviate my rising panic.
The next few minutes seemed really long and I remember frantically trying to remain buoyant and happy, even though my brain was reading a little obituary to itself. I don't know what the brain thinks it is doing in these situations, but mine has a particularly wicked streak - it was humming the death march as i tried to ignore it and answer questions about myself.
Finally, I was moved round to a small room where the anesthetists (or anaesthesiologists as I had been calling them... An improvement to their job title I feel!) did their thing. They told me to think about something nice as they sent me off to sleep... and boom - I was out like a light.
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