Hope

Okay, I over reacted. Things are getting better. I can reach my tongue depressor goal with less and less pain every day. Everything is ok.

That first day really hurt though! *shrug*

Crybaby

This morning I saw The Chainsaw. He took off the rubberbands (as promised) and began to torture me (as promised.) And after my short jaunt into I-want-to-curl-up-into-a-ball-and-escape-this-world-Land I brushed my teeth and was ready to go. Free of elastic tyranny. With a couple hours to kill before my appointment with Dr.Styrt I thought breakfast from a plate instead of a cup would be a wonderful idea. Buckwheat pancakes and scrambled eggs for me, thank you. It was delicious. I had to take it slow though. Little pieces, little bites. I realized I wouldn't be eating a cheeseburger just yet today.
Everyone at the ortho office was happy to see me and loved the results so far. They brought up my initial exam photos for a quick comparison and it's pretty stunning. My tech Kira snipped the surgical hooks off and before I knew it I was banded shut again.

Wait, what? Crap.

I knew they'd be putting rubberbands on again but I thought I'd be able to open my mouth with them on. No such luck. But at least I can take them off to eat and brush and perform what feels like and oral equivalent of hari kari. Which brings me to my main topic for the day.

Physical Therapy hurts. It hurts a lot. Do not be fooled. I don't know why it seems like no one mentions this part in their blogs. Have I not been paying attention? I'd like to think I'm a pretty tough guy but I dunno. Seventeen tongue depressors later and I'm a weeping twit. Seriously. It's a rare day on earth that I shed a tear, but this is the most painful thing I've ever endured. I thought it would get better by talking and eating and yawning without the elastic restraints, but that thought went out the window with the new rubberbands today. I see the Chainsaw in two weeks. We'll have to see how things pan out.

Last Night

I dreamt I was eating a giant plate of nachos.

Tomorrow these dreaded rubberbands come off!

Fuck Zip-N-Squeeze

Long story short, I'm stubborn and didn't think I'd need Zip-n-squeeze bags. I figured the hospital would provide me with anything I needed. The problem with the syringes they give you is they can't handle anything even moderately chunky. The hole is just too small for anything but actual liquid. So I order a 4-banger of the large food oriented bags. They haven't shown up yet. So I called yesterday for a refund, no biggie. Well yesterday their voicemail was full. Today the number has been disconnected. And their email through which I sent my payment, defunct. So please excuse my language but after all this I just don't have the decorum to hold back.

Fuck them.

Fuck them right in the ear.

Clarification

Oh yeah. Just to be clear, my jaw is still immobilized with the rubberbands. So I can't "practice" stretching in between visits. So I'm not sure how I'm supposed to "progress" to get to three fingers. It seems like my surgeon has some sort of hyper-advanced super-quick path of rehabilitation.

Ouchy

Ever since about the middle of Week 2 any complaints of pain came from the muscles (the masseter, actually) being all tight and not being able to strech out. The bone break has long since felt fine. This morning seems to be particularly bad for some reason. Must be because of yesterdays appointment with The Chainsaw. Before I got to brush, he wanted to do a little stretching. He told me to open up enough to put my index finger between my teeth. Seems easy enough, I could just barely do it. Then he told me to rotate my finger 90 degrees. Hmm, ok, took a second but I got it. Then he told me to put two fingers between my teeth and rotate them. I could turn them maybe 45 degrees and I was cheating by letting them slide around each other instead of keeping them directly side by side. Well, I think The Chainsaw was busy this particular morning because after my weak attempt he decided to do it himself. Donning a blue latex glove he placed his hand ever so gentl....WHAM! and twisted! And as I whimpered like a little girl, writhing around like a spider had been held in front of her face with nowhere to go, he calmly held my jaw open for 30 seconds or so. It hurt pretty badly. Granted, before the surgery, he said the rehab would be very hard. I just expected something more gradual. Like a tiny vintage car jack that would ratchet my mouth open one tiny crank at a time. No such luck.

Next week he said we were aiming for three fingers. He suggested I pre-medicate with some advil. I'm thinking some of that leftover vicodin might do the trick.

Boston Creme Pie Shake Recipe

12 oz. Whole Milk
1/2 of an entire Boston Creme Pie

Blend.