Chinderella – it’s an orthognathic fairytale, you see.

June 30, 2008

Day 20

Filed under: Uncategorized — chinderella @ 8:48 am
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  1. I’m getting bored of feeling like I’ve got a grand piano in my mouth.
  2. I’m getting bored of milkshakes, even with all the added protein in the world.
  3. Tomorrow I’m going back up to Lille to see Dr L for another control visit. In the meantime, I’ll be doing what pregnant women do (my baby is going to be born with three limbs, I’m sure something is wrong etc) : I’m crooked, this side isn’t like this side, I’m sure something is wrong. Etc.
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June 27, 2008

D + 17 pictures

Filed under: photos — chinderella @ 7:32 pm

Why 17? Just because.

Still quite a bit of swelling across the cheeks and under the chin, which makes me look.. wise and ponderous? Nope. Old. But it won’t stay, right?

June 26, 2008

too thick

Filed under: Uncategorized — chinderella @ 6:40 pm
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4pm

– Why are you dancing a gig in the kitchen?

Wild arm and leg movement (also known as improvised dancing) continues, followed by deliriously happy facial expression.

– Yes?

Enthusiastic pointing at empty glass on table.

-aadunkweeeeataw! aadunkweeeeataw!

-you saw a what?

I’m trying to explain that I drank with a straw! A straw! Not a syringe! Progress! My happiness knows no bounds. But my mother is unmoved. I was so looking forward to sharing today’s little victory.

6pm

I was entertaining dreams of liberating myself from the syringe – Stanislas, thank you, you’ve served me well- but no; it just won’t work with soup, only juice.

I inject my first dinner into my hungry face, dejectedly. I’m not free yet.

June 24, 2008

Two weeks post-op!

Filed under: Uncategorized — chinderella @ 4:41 pm
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Swelling : about 70% gone, I’d say. Still under my chin and across the cheeks, which are still quite tender.

Bruising : a faint, yellow reminiscence around the neck and chin.

Breathing : under control. yay!

Nose : no more bleeding. Yay! No more walking around with bogroll to mop up self!

Sleeping : still kinda sitting up, but fewer pillows. I do yearn for a cool, flat bed, and a soft pillow to bury my face into, and careless tossing and turning…

Eating and drinking : severely impaired therefore minimal, of course. I worship Stanislas the Syringe, which makes food absorption possible and efficient.

Weight loss: stabilised. I dropped 4 or 5 kilos within 9 days, put one back on by some miracle, and now seem to hover around 53 kilos. Not as drastic as I expected.

Talking : grunts between clenched jaws. My wild gesturing is getting increasingly detailed, though, and I roll my eyes a lot.

Mouth opening : about 2 mm without elastic bands. Rubbish. I’m not trying very hard, but it’s early still.

Level of satisfaction at more aesthetic self : pretty good too, although, surprisingly, I spend very little time in front of mirrors. Just a friendly wave in the morning, really. Otherwise I start laughing at my still puffy cheeks, and it hurts.

Morale : pretty good. It’s hot and sunny, and I sit all day under a tree, reading.

Be well, thank you for stopping by!

June 23, 2008

It’s like in that mastercard commercial

Filed under: Uncategorized — chinderella @ 5:48 pm
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Anesthesiologists’ fee: €350         (£276, or USD 542)

Surgeon’s fee: €1765                     (£1393, or $2737)

Hospital stay (5 nights) : €420          (£331, or $651)

Total for the surgery : €2535        (£2000 , or $3931)

Braces : €3990                               (£3150, or $6180)

New profile, new everything: priceless. 😉

Thank you, France.  I feel like a bad, ungrateful daughter, running back to you when I need to be looked after, well and for not that much money. *kissing passport passionately*

June 22, 2008

Things I’ll never take for granted ever again* and other complaints.

Filed under: photos — chinderella @ 11:28 am
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1. Breathing.

2. Drinking out of a glass, a cup, a vase, a bucket – whatever. Just not a syringe.

3. Blowing my nose.

4. producing more than ‘huhuh” or ‘han’. That’s called talking. Other people do it so well.

*well, give me a few months, and I’ll go back to my old ungrateful, jaded human self.

Today is D+12! The elastics are off for a few hours. I walk around the house and try to stick my tongue out at every mirror. A friend of my mum’s came round this morning and I was displayed : it hardly shows at all now does it, but she still doesn’t want to go out. You bet I don’t want to go out, I look like a retarded monkey with water retention problems. It does show, mum. And where is my chin gone? I’m used to getting everywhere a full two minutes after than my chin, and now look! it’s gone all shy and retiring.

I’ll go look at ‘old’ pictures now, to make myself look better. I’ll post some tomorrow, to make you laugh and hopefully, go : That was so worth it. Be well, thank you for stopping by!

June 21, 2008

a, b, c

Filed under: Uncategorized — chinderella @ 2:16 pm
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The elastic bands are off for a few hours – not that anything happens, really. I sit at the table with a mirror and try going through the alphabet.

er ber they

this is exhausting.

What I want to know, is: how long til I’ll speak again? I know, it’s only 11 days post op. But talking is my job. I’m worried.

Time for another milkshake, then.

6 days without the internet – hungry and cut off from the world!

Filed under: Uncategorized — chinderella @ 10:32 am
Tags: , ,

Blofolks, I wasn’t dead, just internetless. Here are a few notes I made over the past 6 days. Photos will follow, if the internet keeps working. Be well, thank you for stopping by!

D+5
My dad drove up from Clermont ( it’s an 8 hour drive) and arrived at 9pm. He didn’t look too scared at seeing my yellow monster face. I tried to not laugh, it hurts. I jumped to hug him when he wasn’t looking and he patted my back embarrassedly.
I had to sleep with my mum, which wasn’t pleasant. I was meant to be the one that makes noise with my nose!

D+ 6
I saw Dr Lepoutre for my first control visit. It involved being dropped off across the street from his surgery and trying to hide my yellow, swollen face from passers by.
I didn’t really know what to expect so I was my usual blend of hysterical and giggly – mute version of course. He took off the elastics! ‘You don’t have to hold your jaw’, he said. Then he asked me to stick out my tongue a little, a few times.Yes, that was weird. From D + 10, I’ll have to take them off myself every day, as long as I wear them a minimum of 14 hours out of 24.
My dad drove us back to Clermont, stopping only once on the way. We arrived at 10pm, I was ready to pass out. It’s not easy feeding yourself with a syringe in a moving car.

D+7
It’s been a week!
The swelling has definitely gone down a lot; it’s mostly my cheeks and of course my chin now, which is still double and dark yellow with interesting dark red marks. I have also managed to get the constant slobbering under control; that’s a relief. My nose is still bleeding regularly but I don’t even pay attention anymore, just keep walking around with some bog roll.
I slept much better: my mum is lending me her state of the art bed that lets me sleep sitting up, but in confort. As soon as I put my head down it starts hurting and my nose clogs up. I was also told that sleeping up helps the swelling go down faster. To be honest I’m not so fussed about the swelling; I’m not going anywhere or seeing anyone, I can be as goddamn swollen as I please! I’ll never have so round a face every again in my life..I do look a bit dumb, though.
The cat was happy to see me and thought she would prove her love by sitting on my chest, clawing through my throat and headbutting my face in a purring trance.
We have no internet. I am hungry AND cut off from the world!

D+ 10
I’ve reached the 10 day mark, hurrah! In theory, I can now take off my elastics, as long as I wear them at least 14 hours/24.
Armed with a mirror, a pair of tweezers and all the patience I can muster – I’ve made sure I’m not working on an empty stomach, so this is post-4 syringefuls of pea soup laced with some oil my mum declared is good for me- I settle down at the kitchen table. I’ve also waited until I’m alone; why don’t you do it this way, she would say, would you like me to do it? No!
My heart is beating too fast; what if I can’t get the elastics off?
Worse still, what if I can’t put them back on?
Let’s see. First, let’s try and bare our fangs. The elastics are W shaped. Looks easy. Let’s do it.
The first one’s off!
The second’s one is off!
I’m sweating and slobbering. No wonder I don’t pee so much these days.
Onto the exercise Dr L recommended: sticking my tongue out.
Ever so slightly, my teeth open up.. Oh, nothing much, just for the tip, here it comes, and back in, and out again. I’m elated. I wish James could be here to share my little victory.

I’m getting used to sleeping up, but long for a wide, flat bed I could sprawl across, my head carelessly thrown back and no pillow. One day…
This morning I woke up feeling normal; until today waking up was a panicky affair, a sudden lack of air. Just one second to remind myself my jaws are still wired shut and I can’t yawn. Just a little part of my jaw can, right at the back, or perahps nothing really happens but the stretching of a muscle, somewhere.

Earlier I thought I was going to sneeze; I held my face until it went away.

Theorically, I can now leave the syringe and start trying to eat semi-liquid food with a spoon. I never had a syringe, says my mum. Just eat with a sppon, she says. I try to convey with furious gestures that if it ain’t efficient, what’s the point of trying to shove a spoon into my mouth? Only half the food will make it into my stomach, whereas the syringe is, if a little intimidating for the onlooker, great at what it does: feeding me in a non-frustrating, non-wasteful way.

There is still some swelling; my cheeks look a little more normal now but still feel tender and squidgy. I still have a double chin, of course, and a yellow shadow for added prettiness.

We’re still internet-less, and I’m restless and feeling very isolated. After 4 attempts I managed to find a book I could focus on. I have a very comfortable chair under a tree from where I see cats’ tails swishing in the bushes.

June 15, 2008

Bodily fluids are overrated

Filed under: Uncategorized — chinderella @ 4:02 pm
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Before the riddle, I need to clarify : I did have BOTH jaws moved. My surgeon wasn’t sure if he was going to move back my mandibular and warned me that he’d have to see during the op, I was so boderline that maths alone weren’t enough. So I had a surprise for when I came to….

And now, the riddle, only for you, blogpeople: what do I and a rabid dog have in common?

A clue : over the past two days I’ve been walking around the flat with a wad of kitchen towel pressed firmly against my lower face.

That’s right, I foam at the mouth, I slobber, I drool, and I can’t even feel it. Hence the kitchen towel, it’s easier on the furniture. The flast is rented after all; I’ve apologised to my dad for probably ruining his car tomorrow during the drive home, and he promised me a giant bib. He might have to make one, surely they don’t make them for so much drool.

Audience : yuck! You’re disgusting.

And that started just when I had won my battle with my nose! After jaw surgery, blood must come out, blood will come out, and it does so through two holes in your chin – the inkwells previously mentioned- but also through your nose, incessantly. There’s a lot of wiping to do, and very little proper breathing done. That was the truly scary bit for me: calling the nurse in the middle of the night, unable to gain enough oxygen in and trying to not choke on saliva. Thankfully, that wasn’t at the same time I vomited blood – through wired jaws, but of course.

Audience: aargh! Stop it!

Facts of life, people, facts of life. All this for a girl who has a phobia of nosebleeds and vomiting, and who’s not too crazy about the sight of blood. Well, I’ll leave you with today’s picture. Notice the elegant combination of colours on my delightful visage: the swelling has gone down and has now attacked my neck; It was suggested to me that I try out for the next Hulk film once it all turns green; Be well and thank you for stopping by!

June 14, 2008

Maybe in a chipmunk beauty pageant, I’d win. Otherwise, no.

Filed under: Uncategorized — chinderella @ 3:43 pm
Tags: , , ,

CHINDERELLA PRESENTS: The Last Supper

Monday night

Reclined in my comfy hospital chair, I try and look nonchalant; for this was My Last Solid Meal. James and my mum (henceforth known as ‘Support Team’) stay for the feast and moral support. I understand why most people make jokes about hospital food. Later on in the evening, there will be Drugs. Til then, I consider running away. Telling them I have an urgent appointment somewhere, then decide it’d be puny and unworthy of me. I smell the bethadine I’ll have to shower with. My Support Team leaves to go and have a beer somewhere. (I hope.) I cry a little. The hospital bed scares me. Then Xanax takes me in his arms and I float away…

VERY LAST PRE-OP MUGSHOTS! SEE THEM IN TODAY’S EDITION!!!

And just for you, blogfolks, this is the vision I’ve carefully been avoiding all those years in the bathroom mirror. Even with the braces on the top teeth, which make me pout, the maxillary is clearly not where it should be. What happened? My mum blames herself.

Actually, I don’t even look too bad on these pictures. The reality is far worse.

I don’t look very friendly, do I. But I have GREAT potential.

I do look worried, because I am; this is the last time I’ll be looking like this; hope they don’t saw me back up the wrong way.

TUESDAY – I BELIEVE IN WAVING AT STRANGERS

I am awake around 6am, strangely calm, thank you Xanax! I shower ( I think), climb back into bed and a nice guy comes in, smiles at me and puts a ‘joli chapeau’ (nice hat) on my head. He wheels me out of the room, into the elevator, down four flights; I wave at everyone we meet on the way, in a spirit of community and because i’m high. I plan to high five the surgeon when he comes in and make ultimate recommendations/small talk, but as it happens I won’t get to do that.. a nice lady smiles at me from above, asks me to hoist myself across onto an operating table ( and I don’t even freak out) and clamps something onto my finger, breathe, she says, it’s going to

COMPLETE BLANK

I can feel that my right nostril is bleeding so I wipe it with my hand. A man is moaning repeatedly somewhere : I‘m in pain, I’m in pain; I’m in pain, I’m in pain. It can’t be Hell, because I’ve done nothing that bad; a nurse is saying to him : you’re not alone in here, stop moaning. I’m not in hell, perhaps he is, though. I can feel the bed moving, I think we’re in the lift, into my room. I hear ‘here she is’ and I wave at my Support Team.

I think I ask for a mirror. I wipe a lot of blood off my face. I think I look cool. Everything else I’ve forgotten. See the little inkwells attached to my chin? James felt faint when the nurse emptied them of blood. I would have too.

Last thing: I look infinitely better than I feel.

WEDNESDAY and THURSDAY ROLL INTO ONE BIG MISERY

I want to die; I wish they would just cut off my head already so that it could be over and done with. I don’t look a tenth of how crap I feel. Thankfully the nurses are cool, no-one laughs at me, and the drugs keep coming. On Thursday with the first stomach cramps- a girl can only live so long on her own digested blood- I make the acquaintance of Stanislas the Big Syringe.

See us posing together? Stanislas is saving my life throughout the day. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to eat.

I SERIOUSLY DON’T THINK I’LL EVER LOOK AS GOOD AS THIS

Hello, yellow monster.

Maybe in a chipmunk beauty pageant, I’d win. Otherwise, no.

This is my latest, blogvolk; I’ve checked out this morning and staying in a flat for a couple days before being driven home on Monday after my appointment with my surgeon. In the meantime, I promise to stay away from little children.

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