Monday, July 04, 2005
Bleed like me
I went for a checkup at SGH today. Concerning what? Perhaps it is time to scale back on the evasiveness.
I went for a checkup at the Dental Centre today, with an orthognathic surgeon. In simple terms, a jaw specialist. I’ve been for this sort of checkup in the past, and the advice has always been to wait, reconsider, and consider the risks versus rewards. Today was different.
I sat in the dentist’s chair, who is, by the way, the director of the department, so he really knows his stuff. He looked at me, made measurements for ten minutes with several intimidating measuring tools, jotted it down frantically, and finally came up with a verdict – that I did, in fact, have a very serious jaw problem, and was not going to discourage me from doing the operation. I was quite shocked at this recommendation, and mentioning that I was going abroad in slightly more than a year’s time, he told me, ‘then we should start on it as soon as possible.’ I had the impression that I was there merely for a consultation, but before I knew it, he signed a referral, slotting me before other patients, bumping me up the queue to the dental surgeon upstairs, telling me to get my bracers done immediately for pre-op.
So like I passerby, I watched with frank amazement as everything started to unfold before me, the cogs and gears of the whole process slowly sliding into position, and accelerating to an unstoppable mill. It was beyond my control, and what has been set into motion is still beyond my reckoning. Before I knew it, I had plastic scissor-looking paddles pulling away my cheeks from my teeth for people to snap photos, mirror paddles being shoved into my mouth with those paddles tugging in every direction, pictures being taken from every angle concurrently, having this bubblegum like substance being lodged between my teeth and cheeks to make molds, and eventually being sent for X-rays. The molds were to be sent to a laboratory to develop and process. The seriousness of the situation was unforgiving. As I was sent into the testing room, I watched the nurse drain an entire tube of blood from my arm, and it started to dawn on me, what I had gotten myself into.
As I stared at the black-and-white diagrams of my own profile, I couldn’t help but feel terrified. I saw my own visage, plain and stark, a ghostly silhouette, bordering the bright white images of my bone structure. The doctor looked at it, and for the first time, told me, ‘your problem is… very severe. Very severe… and unusual.’ He mused for awhile, and cutting to the chase, described the operation to me. All I know is that I was agape after that. Afraid, intimidated, whatever you would call it. It’s not a simple operation, and it’s not as simple as one operation. Having learnt what is necessary, he gave us time to deliberate on the issue. And our final resolution was to go ahead, as soon as possible, in the hope that I can finish it before I go abroad.
So like I’ve said – things are happening way faster than I expected. Everything has been set into motion. My first operation is next week. Next Tuesday – an operation to remove four wisdom teeth at one go. I laugh in the face of people who complain about how they’ve had one wisdom tooth taken out. I’m getting four within a day-op. And it’s not those injection/saw/pull while you’re awake things; it has to be a sedated, general anesthetic operation which will last a few hours. With all the prerequisite fasting to avoid condensation in the lungs. I will be bleeding like mad for one week, and as my brother says, I will be hard-pressed to not throw up during the week due to the overwhelming, omnipresent taste of blood. Four extractions at once. Wow. But trust me, this is the least of my concerns – this is but a pre-operation procedure, amongst a few others.
I also have to wear special bracers for a period of 6-8 months after that, to prepare my teeth for the actual operation. This includes the normal checkups, readjustments, so-on-and-so-forth. Then the real kicker comes.
The actual operation is going to be an ordeal, there’s no denying that. It’s horrifying. Merely describing it is cringe-worthy and frightening. I won’t deny that I am afraid; that’s an understatement. I will outline the basic process here. The process usually involves shifting one of the jaws to meet the other jaw, in order to align them – the bracers then fine-tune the teeth to meet. Of course, it’s not as simple as shifting. Incisions are made at the sides of the mouth, bones are sawn, relocated, and basically reattached manually. The old process was to use thin wire frames to wire the jaw shut thereafter, and put the patient on drips for several weeks. Here is the exciting part, the part which highlights exactly how ‘special’ I really am – my jaws are not a simple matter of misalignment. The fact of the matter is that my jaws are of different sizes, my not only is my lower jaw overdeveloped, my upper jaw is underdeveloped. So the fun part is this: my operation is two-fold, once for my lower jaw and once for my upper, the former being shifted backwards and the latter, forwards. Exciting, huh? Then after, titanium plates will be welded onto my top jaw to push it forwards, and screws will pin my bones in place. I don’t know about you, but it sounds bloody gruesome to me. And of course, the post-op suffering, bracers, lack of solid foods are to be expected, in conjunction with a five-day hospitalization period.
There’s nothing to think about. I’m doing it, and that’s that. Everything has been prepared. My pre-op begins next week. I can only hope that I am psychologically prepared. As it is now, I think to myself, is it worth all the suffering? Do I have the guts to voluntarily go through such pain? Can I help but think of possible side effects? I cannot afford such thoughts. It will be done either way. I can only cruise through it, like a hapless amusement park-goer, pinned to his cart, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts, fears, regrets, joys, unable to control any of those emotions but witnessing them fly by, just like the blurry streaks of his surroundings.
Psychological pressure. What will my friends and family think? I will not look the same, to be sure – the changes will be drastic, for better or worse. None of you will recognize me. Will you think any less of me? More importantly – will you support me in my decision, or scorn me? I think I need a lot of support during this period of time. While I can’t control it or change the reality of it, I don’t need more people coming up to me, asking me to describe what I will be going through, then cringing and telling me about how horrible it sounds. I’m well aware, thank you.
To all those who have laughed at me or thought less of me in the past because of how I look – you should be very happy now. You finally got to me. I am never aggravated at people making fun of me; I am glad to bring such amusement, despite the fact that it’s at my expense – to the world. But it adds up and gets tiresome. I’m tired of hearing people talk behind my back (and trust me, I have). I’m tired of people giggling whenever I speak. I can speak well, dammit, and I’m not going to be steered from my choice of career, just because people can’t accept me for how I look or speak. I am afraid, but there is a distinction between simply being afraid, and doing it in spite of knowing about the sacrifices involved. At least respect me for that, if nothing else.
I’m tired, I’m jittery, and I feel a heavy burden weighing down upon my shoulders. Fears, doubts, pressure, in so many aspects, be they physical or psychological. I know that it’s for the best. But how many people will do it, with the knowledge that there will be several bits of metal in your skull, remaining there forever? How many inevitable jokes concerning metal detectors will I have to put up with? How will I feel when I can feel the metal contracting and expanding based on surrounding temperatures? Will my life ever be the same again? Will I be loved by my friends, or shunned and abandoned, like yesterday’s news? More importantly, will I feel that it has been worth it, after everything is finally over?
My heart is laden with too much conflict. And I’m feeling like this on the first day. A year of discomfort and suffering ahead. At least. And I will only get more unsettled as time goes by. I can’t fathom what I will be like before the op. I have to sleep on this. My mind is not prepared for the immediacy of all this.
Operation begins next week.
Paranoia out.
I went for a checkup at the Dental Centre today, with an orthognathic surgeon. In simple terms, a jaw specialist. I’ve been for this sort of checkup in the past, and the advice has always been to wait, reconsider, and consider the risks versus rewards. Today was different.
I sat in the dentist’s chair, who is, by the way, the director of the department, so he really knows his stuff. He looked at me, made measurements for ten minutes with several intimidating measuring tools, jotted it down frantically, and finally came up with a verdict – that I did, in fact, have a very serious jaw problem, and was not going to discourage me from doing the operation. I was quite shocked at this recommendation, and mentioning that I was going abroad in slightly more than a year’s time, he told me, ‘then we should start on it as soon as possible.’ I had the impression that I was there merely for a consultation, but before I knew it, he signed a referral, slotting me before other patients, bumping me up the queue to the dental surgeon upstairs, telling me to get my bracers done immediately for pre-op.
So like I passerby, I watched with frank amazement as everything started to unfold before me, the cogs and gears of the whole process slowly sliding into position, and accelerating to an unstoppable mill. It was beyond my control, and what has been set into motion is still beyond my reckoning. Before I knew it, I had plastic scissor-looking paddles pulling away my cheeks from my teeth for people to snap photos, mirror paddles being shoved into my mouth with those paddles tugging in every direction, pictures being taken from every angle concurrently, having this bubblegum like substance being lodged between my teeth and cheeks to make molds, and eventually being sent for X-rays. The molds were to be sent to a laboratory to develop and process. The seriousness of the situation was unforgiving. As I was sent into the testing room, I watched the nurse drain an entire tube of blood from my arm, and it started to dawn on me, what I had gotten myself into.
As I stared at the black-and-white diagrams of my own profile, I couldn’t help but feel terrified. I saw my own visage, plain and stark, a ghostly silhouette, bordering the bright white images of my bone structure. The doctor looked at it, and for the first time, told me, ‘your problem is… very severe. Very severe… and unusual.’ He mused for awhile, and cutting to the chase, described the operation to me. All I know is that I was agape after that. Afraid, intimidated, whatever you would call it. It’s not a simple operation, and it’s not as simple as one operation. Having learnt what is necessary, he gave us time to deliberate on the issue. And our final resolution was to go ahead, as soon as possible, in the hope that I can finish it before I go abroad.
So like I’ve said – things are happening way faster than I expected. Everything has been set into motion. My first operation is next week. Next Tuesday – an operation to remove four wisdom teeth at one go. I laugh in the face of people who complain about how they’ve had one wisdom tooth taken out. I’m getting four within a day-op. And it’s not those injection/saw/pull while you’re awake things; it has to be a sedated, general anesthetic operation which will last a few hours. With all the prerequisite fasting to avoid condensation in the lungs. I will be bleeding like mad for one week, and as my brother says, I will be hard-pressed to not throw up during the week due to the overwhelming, omnipresent taste of blood. Four extractions at once. Wow. But trust me, this is the least of my concerns – this is but a pre-operation procedure, amongst a few others.
I also have to wear special bracers for a period of 6-8 months after that, to prepare my teeth for the actual operation. This includes the normal checkups, readjustments, so-on-and-so-forth. Then the real kicker comes.
The actual operation is going to be an ordeal, there’s no denying that. It’s horrifying. Merely describing it is cringe-worthy and frightening. I won’t deny that I am afraid; that’s an understatement. I will outline the basic process here. The process usually involves shifting one of the jaws to meet the other jaw, in order to align them – the bracers then fine-tune the teeth to meet. Of course, it’s not as simple as shifting. Incisions are made at the sides of the mouth, bones are sawn, relocated, and basically reattached manually. The old process was to use thin wire frames to wire the jaw shut thereafter, and put the patient on drips for several weeks. Here is the exciting part, the part which highlights exactly how ‘special’ I really am – my jaws are not a simple matter of misalignment. The fact of the matter is that my jaws are of different sizes, my not only is my lower jaw overdeveloped, my upper jaw is underdeveloped. So the fun part is this: my operation is two-fold, once for my lower jaw and once for my upper, the former being shifted backwards and the latter, forwards. Exciting, huh? Then after, titanium plates will be welded onto my top jaw to push it forwards, and screws will pin my bones in place. I don’t know about you, but it sounds bloody gruesome to me. And of course, the post-op suffering, bracers, lack of solid foods are to be expected, in conjunction with a five-day hospitalization period.
There’s nothing to think about. I’m doing it, and that’s that. Everything has been prepared. My pre-op begins next week. I can only hope that I am psychologically prepared. As it is now, I think to myself, is it worth all the suffering? Do I have the guts to voluntarily go through such pain? Can I help but think of possible side effects? I cannot afford such thoughts. It will be done either way. I can only cruise through it, like a hapless amusement park-goer, pinned to his cart, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts, fears, regrets, joys, unable to control any of those emotions but witnessing them fly by, just like the blurry streaks of his surroundings.
Psychological pressure. What will my friends and family think? I will not look the same, to be sure – the changes will be drastic, for better or worse. None of you will recognize me. Will you think any less of me? More importantly – will you support me in my decision, or scorn me? I think I need a lot of support during this period of time. While I can’t control it or change the reality of it, I don’t need more people coming up to me, asking me to describe what I will be going through, then cringing and telling me about how horrible it sounds. I’m well aware, thank you.
To all those who have laughed at me or thought less of me in the past because of how I look – you should be very happy now. You finally got to me. I am never aggravated at people making fun of me; I am glad to bring such amusement, despite the fact that it’s at my expense – to the world. But it adds up and gets tiresome. I’m tired of hearing people talk behind my back (and trust me, I have). I’m tired of people giggling whenever I speak. I can speak well, dammit, and I’m not going to be steered from my choice of career, just because people can’t accept me for how I look or speak. I am afraid, but there is a distinction between simply being afraid, and doing it in spite of knowing about the sacrifices involved. At least respect me for that, if nothing else.
I’m tired, I’m jittery, and I feel a heavy burden weighing down upon my shoulders. Fears, doubts, pressure, in so many aspects, be they physical or psychological. I know that it’s for the best. But how many people will do it, with the knowledge that there will be several bits of metal in your skull, remaining there forever? How many inevitable jokes concerning metal detectors will I have to put up with? How will I feel when I can feel the metal contracting and expanding based on surrounding temperatures? Will my life ever be the same again? Will I be loved by my friends, or shunned and abandoned, like yesterday’s news? More importantly, will I feel that it has been worth it, after everything is finally over?
My heart is laden with too much conflict. And I’m feeling like this on the first day. A year of discomfort and suffering ahead. At least. And I will only get more unsettled as time goes by. I can’t fathom what I will be like before the op. I have to sleep on this. My mind is not prepared for the immediacy of all this.
Operation begins next week.
Paranoia out.
# posted by Paranoia Incarnate @ 7:19 AM 
