I saw it coming, I did, and yet I hoped. I wanted to be wrong. Needed to be wrong.
So much pain lately. The infection, back, in full force. Another antibiotic course that will help for a little while.
I know I need more specialized treatment. I know the problem is much more serious than a simple sinus infection. I know one or both of my right upper jaw metal plates are infected. I know that the longer this goes on, the worse the underlying problem gets. I understand that.
And yet.
Fear.
I experienced this same fear ten years ago, before my maxillofacial surgery that broke my jaws in eight places. Jigsaw puzzle. So much fear. Fear of the surgery, of the pain. Of being so fundamentally rearranged.
In that surgery, one of the legacies of the accident, I received four metal plates and a latex allergy.
I’ve thought about it more than a few times, the stark reality that if not for the accident, then not the plates. And if not the plates, then not this.
That kind of thinking is destructive and damaging. Useless.
And yet.
I’m afraid.
I fear being opened up again. I have had many operations and procedures, and I am no stranger to the terror and unreality of waiting, and the waking up afterwards, newly opened, pain-racked, and sleepy.
I should have never sworn that I would never face another jaw operation again. By far the worst procedure of my life, and I don’t know, right at this moment, infected and in pain, if it had all been worth it.
Choices made once. Choices rexamined ceaselessly.
Everyone dies alone. Everyone suffers alone.
I feel so alone.
I dig down deep within, and peel open the layers, the fears, the realities. Searching for myself. Searching for courage.
Searching for faith. Any kind of reassurance that someday I will not be on borrowed time. That the next choice will not have such terrible and unforeseen consequences.
Of course, it’s so simple. Have a problem, treat it, move on.
But that’s how I got here, that’s how I’m at this point.
