My face.
Since I was 12, I have suffered from TMJ. That is short for temporal mandibular joint disorder, which is the joints that make up your jaw. Those beautiful hinges that get a lot of exercise during the day, from drinking a glass of water to chewing a piece of gum to giving someone a kiss, use the muscles and joints in your face. To save everyone from the long story, I'll sum it up quick: the left joint wouldn't stop growing, the right did stop growing, and my face shifted. True, many people today don't believe me that my face is off center, which I appreciate, but I can guarantee you, it is. Which is a-okay! I have finally reached that point in my life where I love my face, my crooked little chin and lopsided bones. It makes me, well, me. I've had two facial surgeries in my lifetime, the last being rather traumatic. I had my mouth wired shut, with times to open and close my mouth for a specific time for 9 months. Limited liquid, non-chew diet to a soft chew diet until the 9 months was up. It was hard, and with this struggle emerged a deep seeded fear of reversal.
I am deathly afraid my face will go back to how it was before my surgery.
That ripping, tearing agony that shred through every fiber in my face, the sharp, quick shots of pain that sliced through the joints and into my eyes, my head and neck could return. I know it won't, but I have this fear that it could.
During one of my times out of my mouth piece, my splint had accidentally been knocked off the bathroom counter and into the garbage can. Returning to put my equipment back on, I couldn't find it. I searched through every nook and cranny of the bathroom, through the kitchen where I had something to eat, and I dumped out my jaw back all the way down to the last rubber band. Panic set in, and I started to cry. I was frantic, having only one thing go through my head.
I don't want to go back.
Finally digging through the garbage, I found my splint at the bottom of the can. It was perfectly fine, just happened to get buried. I sobbed that particular cry of fright, one where you're trying to gasp for air while feeling like you can't breathe. Rocking back and forth with that little piece of plastic in my hands, I thanked God for the ability to find it. That little piece with those little rubber bands guaranteed me a life that was pain free. As long as I had that, I was safe. My face was still safe.
It's been almost 4 years since my surgery, and I am still pain free. It has been a long road, with many sets of braces, multiple retainers and diet restrictions. But one little thing can burst that safety balloon, and I have done just that. My current retainer has been damaged, and I have no idea how. I've worn it for the past two years, and it suddenly wouldn't fit. One of the side wired was accidentally bent, and I couldn't figure out how. How do I fix it? How do I sleep without it? What will happen if I don't have it? What's going to happen?!
I've finally have an appointment set up to get myself a new one, a couple months after my last one was damaged, but the fear still boils up once in a while, especially in moments like this. My palms sweat and my heart races as I remember those long nights laying in bed with every muscle relaxed from my medication while my face throbbed, untouched from the pill.
God doesn't give you fear for nothing. Even with this fear, I have this deep thanks for His blessing of a pain free life. Every day, I get up and go to class no problem, which is the polar opposite as it was years ago when I struggled to go to school through the pain. What a blessing it is. The loss of such a blessing is a scary, and I pray to God every day to keep my face safe.
It is my crooked little face, after all, and I wouldn't be Emma without talkin' a lot.
~E
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