Once upon a time I grew an extra bone in my face.
We spent a long time together, me and that extra bone. But, alas, some medical professional came along and told us we weren’t supposed to be together. So, he stole my extra bone from me.
What you just read is basically the preface to the rest of my life. After multiple doctors threatened to peel my face off to no avail, I had my extra bone taken out of my sinus cavity through my nose. It was as fun as it sounds.
I won’t go into gross specifics about the procedure, though I am kind of proud of some of the fun facts. Suffice (Sufficed? I’ve never really seen this term written) it to say, when it was all said and done, I looked like Sloth from The Goonies.
Let’s talk about what effect the guy above can have on kids. Some, I made hide behind their parents. Others, I was transformed into a Pavlovian experiment on paranoia. Seriously, every time he saw me, the kid would say “Paranoid” and reach toward my eye. He thought it was hilarious when I flinched the next week when he said “Paranoid” and didn’t lift a finger. Still others, I provoked to ask in a crowded elevator, “What happened to your nose?” I have to give credit to the pain medication for keeping me from responding with something that would have caused her father to rip another bone out my face.That elevator took me to my first follow up doctor’s visit. This is where I learned how a sinus doctor really makes his money. I’m not volunteering to pay more, but those guys don’t make enough money. For the past month, I have periodically visited the good doctor, and he has proceeded to pull enormous items out of my nose. It’s like my sinus cavity is Mary Poppins’ purse.
I’m absolutely positive there was some point in my life where I wanted to see how big a booger I could pick out of my nose. If only the current version of me could visit that 4 year-old version, some of these things are big enough for me to autograph and give one to the young me to put in a trophy case.
This, like so many of my posts before, ultimately has no point. That said, there are a few of things I’d like you to know before you leave…
First, you ever listen to your own voicemail message and think, “Is that really what I sound like?” Well, I haven’t voicemail tested it, but the post-surgery voice in my head sounds exactly like Phil Vassar when I sing along to the radio in the car. No matter whose song is on.
Secondly, there’s a lovely anesthesiologist at Vanderbilt. She’s very good at her job – I don’t remember any of my surgery. However, if my life was a Scream movie, she would be Ghostface. She might very well haunt me for the rest of my life… I’m lying in the bed pre-surgery, only a paper towel gown between Ghostface and the natural me. She then tells me what she’s going to do to me once I’m out. It’s nothing dirty at all, but it’s in that vicinity. And it rhymes with quatheterization. At least I was unconscious for that experience. I was also unconscious when Ghostface terrorized me again by paralyzing my legs. Legitimately. Now, I’m all for not moving during a surgery, but I think a stern talking to would have gotten the job done. Instead, I woke up with no pain in my head, but my legs felt like a piece of chewing gum in a vampire’s mouth. My legs didn’t work right for 2 weeks.
Finally, yes, my nose is straighter now. Thanks for noticing.
