Month: March 2017 Page 1 of 2

I went in for my post-op follow-up and was told that everything looks good. Even better? I can eat real food again! So no more relying on soups, applesauce, and other soft foods. This means pizza and crusty bread and chips and all that good stuff. Woo hoo! I just still have to be careful with the roof of my mouth, which hasn’t quite finished healing yet (but so close).

Now, to start easing back into “normal” life and moving forward with my projects. I’ve got a book (or two) to publish!

I was not aware that a gum graft might require not talking. For a week.

For a full week, I didn’t talk at work* or at home. I attended meetings, but could only communicate by writing my comments down and having a co-worker read them. I visited friends and enjoyed their company, but couldn’t say anything. Why?

The location of the graft is such that when everything was swollen, I couldn’t talk without it a) causing pain, and b) pulling the stitches and causing bleeding. In my attempts to not talk, but to communicate, I thought facial expressions would work. Not so much. Certain contortions of my lower lip and jaw pulled on the stitches which caused more pain, and because it happened so fast, I couldn’t deduce exactly what expression or movement was the culprit. All of which meant trying to not talk AND keep a straight face when interacting with people. Not an easy thing! If anything, it convinced me that I really do need to work on my poker face.

The funny thing was the people who tried to talk with me, and then felt like they couldn’t speak either. Or the people who understood that I couldn’t talk but still asked me questions that involved more detailed answers than “Yes or No.” Although I did appreciate their attempts, since it made me feel like less of a social pariah.

Thankfully, the swelling has decreased, and I can talk again, although I still have some trouble with labial consonants** (so no F’s, V’s, B’s, or P’s). It was a relief to be able to talk, and at the same time, kind of a disappointment. I started to like and appreciate not being able to talk because there is a joy in silence. A number of them, actually.

So here they are: The Joys of Not Talking.

• It made me realize how much pointless chatter I do everyday.
• It quieted my mind some.
• It freed me from some socially obligatory conversations that don’t accomplish anything, and always feel awkward trying to end.
• It allowed me to do focused work because people knew I couldn’t talk, so they didn’t drop by to ask questions*** or chat.
• It meant that I had to condense my thoughts into short, simple sentences that I could jot down quickly.
• It felt restful.

I am glad to be able to talk again (really!), but I am also glad that I had the experience of not being able to talk. Very educational.

 

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*I had to make and wear a sticker that said, “Sorry, I can’t talk. Doctor’s orders.” because people seemed to think I was avoiding them or being rude by not returning their “Good morning!” greetings.

**One of my favorite classes in college was linguistics, and I could have sworn these sounds were “fricatives,” but alas, they are indeed labial consonants. But “fricative” just sounds better. Go ahead and say it. “Fricative.”

***Well, except for one supervisor. The good news was that normally the drop-by would have lasted 45 minutes, and not the 5 that this one did.

I guess I’m a more optimistic person than I realized. For some reason, I thought that I really could Do It All: write everyday for Writing Practice Month, have oral surgery, keep a clean house, continue making progress on the indie publishing. Sure, I figured I would probably move a little slower than my standard Mach 3, but it wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

Ha.

Ha ha ha.

Yeah, I’m pretty funny*. Instead, what happened was that my body (and I think my mind, and perhaps my soul) said, “You know what? We’ve been running so hard for so long now, doing everything you’ve demanded of us, and now you go and get yourself cut up? Well, fine. Then we are going on strike! We need a vacation, and it’s not like you have a choice in the matter. So there!”

Whatever motivation I had for my projects, and even just general Life Maintenance, went soaring out the window and landed with an audible thud on the pavement. There was even a large splat of good intentions smeared into the sidewalk cracks.

Everything inside of me just cries for rest. Apparently “rest” takes the form of naps, chick flick viewing, chick lit reading, and the occasional mosey in fresh air. Multi-tasking? Forget about it. The closest I get to that is eating** soup*** while watching TV.

So I’m getting the message from the universe: Take it slow and easy. One day at a time. And it’s okay to have ambitions, but just work on them in little bits. Think “marathon,” not “sprint”.

I don’t know how many times I have seen those written down, but it certainly feels like they are starting to wear into my bones.

 

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*If by “funny” I mean “grossly overambitious” or perhaps “deluded”.

**Does one “eat” soup? Isn’t it more like “drinking”? Or is it more a matter of the soup’s thickness? Say, with a thick potato soup or split pea soup, those I think take some effort, so you eat them. Thinner soups or consommes, where it’s easier to consume it by tipping the bowl into your mouth should be a matter of drinking. But what about chicken noodle soup, or ramen, where you’re half and half—you eat the noodles, but drink the liquid. See? This is just another example of my brain being on strike.

**Fun fact: Your body wants a variety of textures when dining. I will just say that eating soft mushy foods for a week gets incredibly boring. God, I miss pizza. And chips.