Surgery Day to Day 3

So, I haven't really been up to writing anything down for the past few days, but after countless bottles of strawberry LaLa, Ensure shakes, blended up soup, and runny mashed potatoes, I think I'm finally ready to get some writing down. I'll start with the big day:

June 26, 2012

I woke up around 7:45 and took one last look at myself in the mirror before getting in the shower. It was weird to think that after 22 years, the face I would see staring back at me after today would be different. Not unrecognizably different, I know, but different all the same. I felt a little afraid that maybe different will equal bad, and this whole thing will be for naught. I was also second guessing myself. Do I really need this? I've survived without it this far. What if I really do have the bone-dissolving incurable disease that my first orthodontist said I had? Then this wouldn't even matter. What if I'm really just vain and spoiled and want a perfect smile, when maybe I don't need one. After looking through blogs and blogs of people who require jaw surgery, my case is pretty minor. Some of them need double-jaw surgery, huge movements made, months of swelling and agony....but I couldn't dwell on all of this for too long because soon my dad was shuffling me into the car. Off to the hospital. 

I got there, checked in, said hello to my grandma who had probably been there about 20 minutes before us, and all too soon was taken back to the pre op room. There, the nurse talked to me, asked me some medical questions, and started the IV. Once the IV was dripping right, my dad and grandma were allowed to come back and sit with me. My mom was texting from the conference she was attending in North Carolina, and I could tell she was just as freaked out as me. It was strange being in the hospital, hooked up to all these machines, and being completely healthy. 100% fine. Willingly accepting pain and weeks of bedridden boredom. My anesthesiologist (who had a very interesting name that reminded me of "Barbosa" from the Pirates movies) came in and talked to me for quite literally 30 seconds. I asked about nausea and told him I really didn't want to throw up, and he responded by saying "Yes, the chances are high. You are a female, and young. We have rescue medication for that." I wasn't sure if he had interpreted my question right....rescue medication? What did he think I had just asked? What were my chances high for? I decided not to think about it as I said goodbye to my dad and grandma and was wheeled to the operating room. It was about 40 degrees in there and looked like the set of an ER scene. Huge lights hung from the ceiling, countless machines beeped and lit up, and shiny instruments of all kinds littered the tables surrounding a single bed in the middle of the room. This "bed" was barely wide enough for me to lay on and I asked the nurse what the chances of falling off during surgery were. She said I wouldn't fall, and my doctor walked in and asked me questions to keep my mind off the surgery. "You have any siblings?" A brother. "Younger?" Yeah. I wasn't very talkative, so he came over and squeezed my foot instead. It was strangely calming. "You will feel very woozy soon," the anesthesiologist said to me before asking the nurse for a scalpel and forceps. Suddenly the world was spinning violently and I told the nurse I didn't feel well. Then it seemed like every muscle in my body was contracting all at once. It was extremely painful and I yelled that I felt like I was having a heart attack. The nurse looked slightly concerned for a second, and then I heard the anesthesiologist say he gave me something. She said "It's ok, he just gave you something," which was not exactly comforting or informative, but then I was out. 

I woke up in some room that I'm still not sure the name of. It sounded like I was surrounded by other hospital patients. I heard coughing, puking, moaning, everything. But I felt fine and kept falling in and out of sleep. I remember pressing my morphine button twice and them telling me they were giving me something in an IV, and then I was being wheeled to my room. Once there, I saw my dad and grandma again. They told me that the doctor said everything had gone perfectly. My bone broke the way it was supposed to, and my bite looked good. My dad said that since my bone was so dense, there was no way that I had the disease that my orthodontist had diagnosed me with a few years ago. I felt relieved to be out of surgery alive and functioning, and I fell back asleep. Throughout the day, my grandparents, boyfriend and brother came to visit and I talked to them all as best as I could. I was actually feeling pretty good for most of the day. Then they gave me chicken broth, and it was disgusting. I'm sure that is not what made me puke, but I did shortly after. Blood. Nasty. But after that, I didn't feel sick again and fell back asleep (my brother and boyfriend stayed overnight with me and slept on the same couch, which made me laugh). The next morning, the doctor came in to check on me and said I was cleared to leave. My boyfriend's mom came to visit and brought some magazines, then I watched Stick-It while I received my last IV dose of antibiotics and a steroid shot in my leg, then I was ready to go. I got wheeled through the hospital in a chair big enough to sit 4 of me (a bariatric chair, the nurse said) and people stared at me as I exited the lobby. I looked like a monster. Here's a cute shot.

We had to stop at my surgeons office to take some xrays, and once we arrived, the nurses let me know that my swelling was the worst they had seen all month. Oh boy. They took the xrays and I asked if I could see them. Once I looked, I knew that the surgery was worth it. 

Here's before:

And afters:

It was crazy to see the movement in my teeth, and feel them touching together. I secretly chewed a piece of potato stuck in my soup today, and it was the weirdest thing ever. I have never been able to cut through something like that!

Anyway, yesterday was day 2. I had ground up chicken noodle soup, mashed potatoes, and a yogurt drink called Lala that I have grown to really like because it helps the disgusting medicine go down smoothly. I laid around and watched 21 Jump Street then fell asleep. Today has been equally uneventful. I ate more blended soups and potatoes, and drank some Ensure. I also played my brother's xbox and am currently about to watch another movie. My biggest complaints right now would be my nose and the time it takes to eat anything. My nose is bloody and pretty stuffy from all the tubes they shoved down it during the surgery. Congestion with your mouth clamped together is not fun. But it's getting better and hopefully by tomorrow (exciting day 4) it will be almost non-existant. The eating thing is frustrating, but at least I like soup. I cannot WAIT to sink my teeth into a burger. Or pizza. Or even Taco Bell. Everything sounds so good. Grrrr. Oh well. I will wait it out and continue to lose weight, just to gain it all back again. I would guess I've lost about 6 pounds, but I don't really know or care. The road to recovery is slow and uncomfortable, but I think this will be worth it in the end!

Photos of My Face

I'm a sucker for before and after's...isn't everybody? I figure I should post some pictures of me now so when everything is said and done the results will be that much awesome-r. These pictures will also show my problems more clearly. Please note that my mouth in all of these is completely shut. I don't know how many times an orhodontist/ortho-barbie-helper/other random mouth person has asked me if I'm shutting completely in the last few months. No shit! If I could close my mouth all the way, I wouldn't be in this situation.

Myface

Right Side

 Left side

Mmm... sexyness. Notice the ridges on my bottom front teeth...these mean that my teeth have never come together. Normally they are ground flat from friction with the top teeth.

 Right

 Left

And finally, if I was Lil' John, this would be my grill face

10 Days to go!

Chronicles of My-Mouthia

Have you ever had that feeling in the pit of your stomach? You know, the one right before your boyfriend breaks up with you, or right after you see the red and blue lights flashing in your rear-view mirror? That is the feeling I had when my doctor told me I would need jaw surgery. Well, actually, let's go back. Way back, to the beginning of my mouth issues.

I'm ten, and I think braces are the coolest thing since the Nintendo 64. The day I get them on, I stare at my teeth in the mirror for at least an hour straight. They are currently blue, my favorite color, but when Halloween comes around, I'm changing to black and orange. Christmas, red and green. The orthodontist tells me that I will be wearing them for a few years, because my teeth are extremely crooked. They actually resembled a forrest of trees after a tornado -- overlapping, twisting, leaning into each other for support. I can't wait to see how he's going to fix all that. 

After 5 years of expanders, rubber bands, countless tooth extractions, tooth shaving and about 1352 orthodontist appointments, the braces come off. The feeling of running my tongue across my smooth teeth is weirdly addictive, and I can't stop smiling. Shit, I look good! 

My 15 year old self

I praise the Lord that my metal mouth days are over, and continue along in my happy little life.

Three years later, my teeth are crooked. My orthodontist is pissed. I didn't do a very good job of wearing my retainer. I tell him my dog ate it. Really, she did. The braces go back on for another six months. When they come off, my teeth still don't quite match up. My orthodontist tells me it's because I have a rare disease that's something like arthritis in my jaw joints. He tells me that my hormones are eating away at the joints (and consequentially, EVERY joint in my body) and that by the time I'm 30, I won't even have a functioning mouth. I tell him that my dream is to be a professional musician, a drummer. That requires use of my joints. He tells me that I should choose another career, because this disease (which is supposedly so rare and newly discovered that it is not named...) will make that dream impossible. I am devastated. I mope around for a while, feeling trapped and helpless and fearing that I may someday look like a chinless worm. 

After wallowing in self pity for about a year, I become skeptical. There is no pain present in any joint in my body, including my jaw. I talk to an oral surgeon, and he points out tiny ridges on my front top and bottom teeth, suggesting that my teeth never touched right, because normally the ridges get smoothed by the friction between teeth while chewing. He also suggests that maybe my orthodontist had never actually straightened my teeth, but settled for just trying to make them look straight, ignoring functionality and my actual jaw line. He tests my joints and takes x-rays, and then states that he does not believe that I have any type of degenerative joint disease, just an combination of overbite and open bite. I get a second, third, and fourth opinion. They all agree. I do not, in fact, have life altering arthritis in my face. Or anywhere. They all also agree that my bite could have easily been corrected by orthodontics during the first 5 years of braces. My initial response is anger. Very severe, Hulk-like anger. How could these "doctors" charge us thousands of dollars and years of time to not do their job right? And then fabricate some serious disease to cover their own asses? "Well, now we know why you could never bite into an apple. And why it takes you 5 years to finish a meal," my mother says on the way out of one of the oral surgeons' offices. It seems like getting the surgery is my only option to fixed what has been neglected for years.

So, the day before I turn 21, I get braces. Again. If you're counting, this is the third time, the 6th year. Luckily, alcohol doesn't require any chewing, so I still celebrate. Walking into the bar with a mouthful of metal wasn't exactly how I'd pictured my 21st birthday, but my friends momentarily convince me that you can barely tell. One drunken frat boy tries to console me by saying, "You know, you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen with braces." Thank you. Thank you so much for that. I'm glad I beat out all the fierce competition.

 I have braces for the duration of my junior year, and although I try to tell myself that I am a strong woman, tough and resilient, I soon find that I am an insecure sissy. I find myself constantly hiding my smile with my hand, complaining about how stupid I look and feel, and telling my boyfriend that I will not kiss him until the braces come off. I bathe in my own self deprecating pity party for about a semester before I realize that I'm being an idiot. There's nothing I can do to change it, so I have to deal.

Throughout this past year, I had to have two minor surgeries preparing me for the big one. I had a gum graft that spanned across my 7 bottom front teeth, and then a frenectomy in the same spot. Apparently these surgeries were necessary because my gums were almost non-existent in that area. This was due to the fact that my lower jaw is too small to house all the teeth, so they push on my gums constantly. Too many teeth at the gum party. The gum graft was horrendous, but effective, and the frenectomy was a piece of cake.  

I turned 22 last week. The day before my birthday, I had one last orthodontist appointment before the surgery (new orthodontist, by the way). About 2 teeth touch in my entire mouth now, as he has moved them to line up with my actual jaw line. I can literally stick my tongue out with my teeth as closed as they can be. 

See?

So, in two weeks I get the surgery. Here's the deal:

They will be advancing my lower jaw (or mandible, in fancy doctor speak) about 5 mm and moving it to the left 1.5mm. In the end, I will have 4 metal plates bolted into my jaw. Fun fun! After a 23 (yes, exactly 23) hour stay in the hospital, I will be stuck in my bed drinking a liquid diet for about 3-4 weeks. The nurse suggested delicious blender recipes for drinks entitled "Bacon and Eggs Shake" and "Meatloaf Smoothie." Then "soft food" (pasta, scrambled eggs, etc.) for another 2 weeks, after which  I'll hopefully be free to eat whatever I want. I won't be wired shut, instead I will have one "training" rubber band on each side connecting top to bottom for the first 3-4 weeks. I will be blogging through it all, so I'm sure as the pain medication comes into play, my posts will get dramatically more interesting. 

Now that you know my mouth's life story, I think I'll go to bed. More soon.