Jaw surgery plus plastic surgery

Part 1 of my story about my corrective jaw surgery -aka: dentofacial osteotomy- ended with the image of me with my jaw dropped to the floor after my dental surgeon, out-of-the-blue, suggested to throw some plastic surgery in the mix.

I wrote that I was dumbstruck for what felt like an eternity, but in reality I was taken by surprise for about 10 seconds, before I was able to ask him: “What do you mean? What is wrong with my eyes and my under-chin?”

He bent over, looking closely at my face with squinting eyes. “Well, you could probably wait a couple more years, but your upper eyelids have already begun to droop. And a lifelong overbite has created a double under-chin.”

Still taken by surprise I answered something like: “Oh, I see….okay then.”
Back home, I thought back to that strange twist in the conversation with Doctor Charming. It was only then, that questions arose in my mind.

So I phoned him and asked:
“But who would actually be doing that plastic surgery?” “Me.”
“But you are a dental surgeon!” “Yes, but I do these surgeries as well.”
“Oh. How often do you do them then?” “Don’t worry; I do a handful of those each week.”
“I see. But you never mentioned a price tag…”. No, it’s free. You are lying there anyway, under anesthesia, so it’s only that the surgery will take a bit longer.”

I was still a bit flabbergasted, but it did sound tempting. And as a piece of cake. “Why not?”, I asked myself. So I said yes. That’s how my second plastic surgery sort of ‘happened’ to me, since I had no intention of doing that at all.

After 16 months of braces the Big Moment was there: time for the jaw surgery or mandible osteotomy.

(To know what that surgery entails, read part 1 .)

I hate hospitals and, be honest, who likes surgery? Not me! Ofcourse medical science is a blessing! Don’t get me wrong. But to need it, is hell to me.
I was scared and nervous. On top of it all I stumbled upon an article about anesthesia awareness, a phenomena like in the movie Awake. It sometimes happens to patients; the muscle relaxants work, so they cannot move or do anything and they seem to be unconscious, but their mind is fully awake and aware. Super scary sh*t!

I revealed my fear to the anaesthesist and asked him to verify that I was really unconscious (there is a way to test it). He was sweet and reassuring. Counting down from 10 - 9 - 8- and …..knock out.

My 36 hours in hell hospital

I woke up in my hospital bed -on a plastic surgery ward-, many, many hours later. There had been some problems and complications during surgery, so the already long procedure had taken even longer. Ofcourse that also meant more sedation, so I was groggy and sick.

I felt horrible and looked even worse. Not that I could see myself at that moment, but the pictures that I saw later spoke volumes. I will not share those pictures here, since they are too gross. Let me instead try to illustrate it in another way. You know puffer fish, right? And you know mummies? Not the motherly type, but the corpses wrapped in rags; those mummies. Well, I looked like a cross-over between those two species.

Source: url picture

Source: url picture

I knew patients look quite horrible after this surgery, so I had forbidden the BF and the BFF to visit me that first evening. They however ignored my wishes and stood beside my bed, making me feel uncomfortable and too sick to communicate anyways.

My whole head was inflated like a football and my jaws were attached together/immobilized (for 6 weeks). Speaking was almost impossible and even breathing was hard. But I had come prepared and had brought a notebook and pen that my BFF handed to me, so that I could communicate a bit.
Later on, after BF and BFF left, one of the nurses took it out of my hands, put it out of my reach, while saying:”No, no, no, come one, no need for that fuss. Just try a bit harder. You can speak.”

After a sleepless night, the next day, patients in the beds around me came and went. It so happened that all of them came for a breast reduction. They were loud and chatty, were wheeled out to have surgery, wheeled back in after a couple of hours, started talking cheerfully after half an hour, fully clear and awake, asking if they could have a sandwich, please. None of them seemed to have a lot of pain or discomfort and they talked and laughed about the joys of buying new, pretty bras in the coming days and weeks. Visiting hour came, and each of them received visitors, as chatty and loud as they were themselves.

I was in pain and discomfort and felt like a freak, looking like this mummified puffer fish, everyone staring at me, especially the visiting children. So I asked one of the nurses to close the curtains around my bed.
It so happened that there was a wall clock next to the curtains around my bed, and soon I heard the other patients say to each other and to their visitors: “What time is it? I cannot even see that clock now anymore! What’s her problem? We all had surgery and do you see any of us being so complicated?! She chose to have plastic surgery herself, right? Who wants to be pretty, has to suffer, we all know that. Pfff, drama queen.”

Since I could not talk, I could not say anything back. The nurses did not seem to have more understanding of the nature and gravity of the procedures I had had, them being used to plastic surgery patients, not jaw surgery patients. They made clear that they too saw me as someone who wanted to beautify herself and now was exaggerating about some minor discomfort.

All in all I felt so bad, that the only thing I wanted was to get out of there. To go home. Immediately! So around 5 pm, I uttered some sounds, made some gestures asked my surgeon to discharge me. Initially he refused; it was too soon. But my mind was made up and after I signed a form that I discharged myself against doctor’s orders, I was free to go. The BF picked me up and home we went.

(to be continued)