Two Months

Tuesday marks the two month "anniversary" of my surgery. Eight weeks will have gone by, and even though there's still numbness, even though I can't chew everything I'd like to - I like to think that the worst of it is behind me.

I've already said how little the cosmetic side of this surgery played into my decision, but today I took some progress shots (missed week 6 due to puffiness and week 7 due to blurry camera syndrome), and I am really happy with how much softer I look:

Here's a before shot for comparison:

My orthodontist told me I looked "younger" when he first saw me. Now, I think that's way harsh (just kidding), but he's right. I do look different, and probably for the best. The thing is, now you can see my braces even more than before - so next step is to get those bad boys off my teeth. Like, now.

Bike New York Ride

J and I participated in the Five Boro Bike Tour this past weekend. The ride itself was exhilarating and very, very cool. We started at Battery Park, rode up through Manhattan, over to Astoria and Queens, down through Brooklyn, and finally out to Staten Island. We took the ferry back to Battery Park, and then we rode back to Brooklyn (although we walked a lot of the way once we got over the bridge).





The things we saw during this race...they will stay with me forever. Firstly, and most significantly, we saw someone get maced. While we were waiting in an enormously long queue to get into Central Park (made infinitely worse by the sidewalk jumpers. You know who you are. Each and every one of you is going straight to hell, I hope you know), some homeless guy started causing a ruckus. We didn't personally notice anything until he slammed his cane down onto a car and started screaming nonsense at one of the cyclists. A cop came out of nowhere and nonchalantly maced the guy in the face. I would have been screaming my lungs out, but the homeless guy just leaned over on a nearby railing - defeated. I don't have any social or political commentary about it, I just have never seen anything like this. Then some mentally disturbed and presumably homeless woman started screaming things about cops and homeless people, but it was impossible to tell whether her rage was directed at the homeless guy or the cop. Thankfully, we made it into Central Park unscathed, shortly after she started her screaming rant.

There were several accidents. Whenever there was a ramp and a turn, people would take the turns too quickly, and there were one or two of those. Honestly, I have never seen such blatant disregard for other cyclists, and I have a pretty rough commute (relatively, I mean). There was also a nearly fatal heart attack on the Queensboro bridge, but fortunately, the man made it. It was decently scary, and did not help to ease the anxiety I was already facing when going over two of the major bridges.

A lot of people have noted that this is a great ride to do. Once. Which is what the friend who recommended this ride told us, too.

That being said - in total, it was an amazing ride. Too many people, but riding through NYC (and vowing never to go to that dump again) without any cars was too good an opportunity to miss.

Too bad my jaw is a wreck two days later (my surgeon said I should be good to go as far as riding my bike went, but a little bit of research and a conversation with my OD has indicated that maybe 50 miles was a bit much before my 3 month post surgery mark...).

Rage is a four letter word

I am now five weeks (plus) post-op. To be honest, I thought that after about a month I would be a little bit happier. Things I am actually very happy about involve having the surgery itself out of the way, and knowing that because I was the "optimal" age, the recovery (and braces!) will be over sooner rather than later. Unfortunately it only gets me so far.

There has been a rage inside of me for the past week. Something indescribable and ugly. Something hideous and so unlike "me," it's hard to watch.

Things that may have contributed are the fact that J was gone for two weeks. He was gone, and he was working hard and he was stressed. He was stressed and I missed him tremendously by the second week, and it was not a good combination. I may have had some conflict with certain people in my life - things that normally I am capable of pushing beneath the surface and airing at therapy - things between me and someone I actually like. It left me tired and vulnerable, and I was incapable of dealing with other people in my life that I don't like, but can typically interact with using a modicum of friendliness. I'm puffy and swollen again, and I'm sick and tired of having a "broken" face; sick and tired of not being able to eat real food. I'm feeling better about the whole "I'm going to be beaten, gang-raped, or hit by a car" thing, but "better" is relative, obviously.

In short, I am feeling off. My roommate can sense that I've been off (even though she's been working a lot), and even if J is too stressed to notice all of it, we've discussed it. I haven't been able to call home in over a week because I just can't deal with it.

Is it the medication? The rage I've been feeling has been absolutely apoplectic, and it makes me remember my very second psychiatric evaluation when I was prescribed this medication. One of the side effects, my psychiatrist said, was blinding rage. He told me how one of his patients described how she suddenly found herself screaming at cars as they went by because they were making her angry. Because they were driving by. That's how I've been feeling this week - except I'm muttering angry things at people on the streets instead of screaming at cars. But I firmly believe that's next.

The troubling part is how I've been on this medication for a year now. How I haven't changed doses. How, while I missed a few pills while I was immediately post-op*, I haven't missed any in weeks. (*several doctors and nurses told me it was okay because the drug is slow release, and builds up in the system enough to skip one or two)

If it is my medication, I have a lot to think about. I was prescribed these meds specifically because I'm young and my depression is mild. The sexual side effects are rare, which was genuinely the biggest concern at the time, but a new medication would mean a new round of "adjustment," which is currently more daunting than facing another week of this.

I feel empty inside, and I want to feel whole again, like I have in the past three months. I've been riding it out for a week, and I'm coming up with nothing. My biggest problem in the past was believing that if I dug deeply enough, I would find the answers within - but that only made deeper wounds. This time I want to be stronger than that. I want to admit that I need help. Why is it so hard to be okay with that?

Tokyo Police Club @ Paradise Rock Club

So I did end up going to the Tokyo Police Club show, after all. I had to leave early because my jaw was hurting, my feet were sore, and I was exhausted (I would say I'm old, but I'm "recovering from surgery," people. Seriously). I was out of pain medication (and by that, I mean ibuprofen; all I'm taking these days), and the thought of dealing with jaw pain plus having to find a cab, plus being afraid of being mugged/stabbed/raped if I tried to walk home (I should talk to my therapist about this fear: it's very real and exaggerated and probably not entirely normal), I decided to leave in time to catch the T.

All of my issues aside, this concert was great, and I had a front row view standing between a really cute couple that had been dating for 2 years and five months, and a girl who kept giving me the death stare. I think she thought I was going to invade her space, so I went ahead and did, at least with my camera lens.

These guys never disappoint and the opening acts were also stupendously awesome. Meligrove Band opened with their rockin' Canadian sound - they were exactly the type of band I'd expect to open for TPC and their banter was amusing.

After Meligrove, I was completely blown away by Smoosh. Like everyone else there, I had previously heard their cover of Bloc Party's "This Modern Love," and when they played it, I was in heaven - but their entire set was amazing. These girls are incredibly talented and beautiful, and they drew me in from the first beat to the end of the last song. The drummer, Chloe, rocked out like she was part of that drum set, with a blue halo around her the whole time. Asya's voice was so beautiful, I think she replaced Karen O as the female vocalist I would give my left arm to be.

Then, Tokyo Police Club came out. Graham had his back to me the whole time, so I didn't get to watch him very much, but my view of the other three was pretty darn good:

Their new album, Elephant Shell, came out this week - and it is really good. Decidedly more polished than their original sound, but it definitely still has the raw feeling to it that made me fall in love with them. Plus, they're fucking adorable. And I want to have their babies.

Finally. Six Days Post-Op.

I (finally. FINALLY) had my jaw surgery last Tuesday. I am six days post-op, and I'm feeling much better now. I think I may even be able to stay awake all day, although I won't be running any marathons any time soon.

The constant grogginess and crankiness is something I'm looking forward to living without. I think that I have kept a very positive attitude about the surgery and the recovery so far, but I also know that I haven't been little miss sunshine over the past week, either. I decided to continue on the pain medication, even though I was told by the doctor that I didn't seem like the kind of person who would depend on it. I took his words entirely too far, and sort of stopped taking it when I got home from the hospital (they only kept me one night), relying on the Ibuprofen instead. You know, there's a reason that they prescribe the pain meds, and as someone who battled with a lot of inner conflicts to finally decide to take anti-depressants, you'd think I'd have finally learned that pain medication is no different than any other medication. Relying solely on the pills to keep me hazy and remove me from reality is not the same thing as using them to help make my recovery less stressful. It took me two days of incredible pain to figure that out.

My face is changing every day, now, and as the swelling goes down, I am starting to hope that everything falls into place without altering the way I look too drastically. I liked my face before the surgery, which was never considered cosmetic. My surgeon, however, is of the opinion that it will improve my profile and minimize the impact of my chin, a nice by-product of trying to stop the mind-numbing headaches and inability to eat chewy things. Thing is...I really liked my face before. Okay, so I wasn't in love with the chin, but I had never had to teach myself not to hate it, either. I just don't want to have to get used to any drastic changes. I guess I'll have a long time to wait and see, though, since the message board I've been using as support has indicated that my face will be changing for months, maybe a year. In the meantime, the thing that surprised me most as I was examining my face today was the bruising:

I guess now that the swelling has gone down a little bit, I'm more anxious than ever to get my "old face" back, which I just said will take a while. Then again, the bruising makes me all the more aware of the fact that...well, they took a saw to my skull...and moved a part of it forward. My face has suffered some serious trauma. And despite all of it, and whatever may happen in the future, I'm really really happy right now. I feel complete, like I just crossed a major finish line in my life. I may not have run any marathons, but I did cross off a BIG to do on my life list.

Next up, I can't wait to get these braces off, y'all.

*The funny thing about the bruises being a reminder of the enormity of what has happened to me in the last week is that they're the bruises that occurred from my wisdom tooth removal. Simple wisdom teeth bruises that 99.9% of the population understands because people go through it all the time. Not that my surgery was in any way special, out of the ordinary, or even particularly serious, but the thing I'm most concerned about is a side-effect of the most mundane and routine part of this jaw stuff.

The Jaw Surgery That Wasn't

I was supposed to be getting jaw surgery today. A LeFort I Osteotomy, which would correct my upper jaw, and (hopefully) relieve me of jaw pain that gets so bad sometimes that I'm afraid my head will just explode right then and there out of sheer agony. I am obviously not getting the surgery today due to a number of reasons that are entirely not my fault, but for reasons that I keep blaming on myself, anyway.

My insurance didn't come through, which isn't a huge surprise given that my surgeon's office sent the request in right before a holiday. We planned this surgical date on October 18th, though. After years of waiting for this, I scheduled this date in good faith that a month and a half would be enough time for them to secure the operating room, contact my insurance, jump through hoops the insurance would probably put us through, and then I thought we would finally get this DONE.

So, to be exact, I have been waiting for the go ahead to get this done for two years. I have been through no less than three insurance providers in the course of my waiting. Unfortunately, fate timed this date such that when it was scheduled I would be covered by an insurance company that is not local, and thus does not operate under Massachusetts code, and thus has been a huge pain in my ass - repeatedly and for every variety of medical care I've ever needed. In the meantime, my jaw pain has progressed, and sometimes I wake up and it's locked up so tightly that I have to use a heating pack on my face. So that I can eat. Or, you know, function.

I have been in braces for almost three years now. The braces haven't really been doing much; my teeth haven't moved in the last two years. The worst part about having braces as an adult is...well, having braces as an adult. I know I'm the only one who matters that even notices them as a negative thing. Both my boyfriend and my best friend have repeatedly told me that the braces aren't even a fraction of a thought on people's minds, but they are still all I can think about when I'm meeting someone for the first time, or smiling, or laughing. Or looking into a mirror.

I am fine, really. I was fine in Minnesota, when I didn't have to think about it, and I'm fine now, even though I am so ridiculously confused and sad and disoriented. I hate whoever it was, whatever collection of events it was, that caused me to have to take back all of the paperwork only to have to do it again sometime soon. Whatever caused me to have to cancel my mother's $800 flight and several hundred dollar rental car because I will need her here when I get my surgery and we can't just spend $1000 every time we get dicked around. I hate that I was forced to rent a zipcar for the purpose of rushing some dental molds to an office in another city, only to find out that it didn't matter, anymore - and then get an icing-on-the-cake parking ticket from the good old city of Somerville.

I am so bummed. And queasy, and tired. I don't know why I'm queasy, but I am. I have been since I found out that my surgery date was going to come and go, and I wasn't going to be able to do a thing about it. It's hard to take out anger on the source when there really isn't one.

I think it's about time to finally start throwing bricks at cars that don't stop at stop lights or yield to my bike when I have the right of way. I mean, the anger has to go somewhere. I can't just keep it inside!