Gosh there’s been a lot of self reflection on this blog lately but (psyche!) it’s not going to stop with this post.
Met with an oral surgeon today. Turns out I “””get””” to have my face hole operated on in the next few weeks. This will probably also include a bone graft.
I’ve spent my entire conscious life avoiding surgery. For other reasons, certainly, mostly related to my autoimmune illness. I’ve clawed my way to the top of the walls surrounding our little hothouse garden of health to peer into the endless deserts of possibility to find other options than surgery.
Up until now, I’ve been successful.
This one looks like it can’t be avoided. The bone destruction is real, and I’d like to be able to talk, chew, and look like a human being.
One would think that a simple surgery would be a rational thing to accept and plan for. It’s not even that big of a surgery, just a tooth extraction being extra.
And yet, it feels like this is a personal decision, like I have to somehow reconceptualize or recontextualize myself in light of this new information. Maybe it’s the bone graft, the realization that I have to accept this dead thing (excuse me, “calcium scaffolding”) as part of myself.
I was expecting to encounter anxiety about the process, and was fine with being nervous about the procedure. What I was not expecting was an existential connection with this event. Maybe it’s because my identity has been so wrapped up in NO SURGERY.
Jury’s still out. I’ll keep you updated if I figure any of it out.