Let's talk about bats in the cave.

I kept coming back here to write a post, but it wasn't until today that words stopped hurting my face. Obviously, the words didn't reach out of the screen and smack me, but this sinus surgery recovery has been--how shall I say it?--brutal. So, my grand plan to grade papers over break? Totally thwarted by the constant headaches and dizziness; the latter of which has finally begun to abate. My grand plan to whip up some of the best posts this blog has ever seen? Squashed by my sinuses. 

Today, I finally returned to work, much to Jefferino's dismay. However, I needed normalcy. Well, as much normalcy as can be provided by a room full of teenagers.  It is with great hesitation that I say things are looking up, but I'm going to take a risk here. Things are looking up. I successfully disgusted my junior classes by telling them about my sinus surgery and what came out of my face. (Pity goes a long way, folks. Especially in the hands of teenagers.) 

After school today, I went for my third follow-up visit since the surgery. The right side of my face is healing quite nicely. The left side, on the other hand, is just hanging onto its relationship with inflammation. Every follow-up visit carries on as follows: doctor straps on his headlamp and sticks a tiny lighted rod up my nose to assess my nose goblins (which breed like crazy following a surgery, FYI). He then proceeds to SHOVE bits of hydrogen-peroxide-doused bits of cotton into my sinus cavities; this step of the process serves to soften up the indelicacies living in my nose. Once the hydrogen peroxide makes the inside of my face sizzle (much like the nostalgic "snap, crackle, and pop" sound of our Rice-Krispies-loving youth...without the entertaining cartoons and sugary sweetness that sinks to the bottom of the bowl), he sticks the world's longest tweezers into my nostril and removes said cotton. Does he shove one piece in? No no. Does he shove two pieces in? No no. He shoves three pieces of cotton in; all of which feel as if they're flicking me in the frontal lobe. He assures me he is not touching my brain, but his middle name might be Hannibal. I can't be sure. 

Sometimes, he sticks clippers up my nose, and I wonder to myself, "How are all of these instruments in my face at the same time? Will my nostrils be forever large? WHAT is he snipping in there? Is this a nasal circumcision? Why am I thinking these things?" All the while, Jeff sits in a nearby chair and periodically grimaces or groans about the things coming out of my face. I think to myself, "God love this man who married me, takes care of me, and is sincerely interested in the things that live in my face." In fact, when I told him that my brother was right about the things I blow out of my face being akin to "bloody cockroaches," he asks me to save one in a tissue so that he can inspect it. Don't worry. I do not plan to fulfill this request. Even I have my boundaries. Boundaries that clearly do not include refraining from telling my readers (who may no longer be my readers after this post) about metaphorical cockroaches up my nose. 

In case you're new to this saga, the ENT (ear, nose, and throat) doctor had to fix my deviated septum, bone spur, and clean out my severely infected sinus cavities. After the surgery, he explained that my septum was so deviated it had blocked off my left maxillary sinus, making it impossible for the seven weeks of antibiotics to kill an infection that had nowhere to drain. Since my left sinus cavity is still inflamed and he did a lot of poking around in there, it'll take some time for me to heal; however, it's looking much better already! 

I'm finally cleared to work out and use nasal sprays (including my dear friend, the neti pot), but I must still sneeze out of my mouth, an art I've perfected over the past two weeks. After reading this post, if you try sneezing out of your mouth the next time you sneeze, I do hope you'll share your experience with me. 

I think I know how people who can't see until they put on glasses for the first time feel. I can smell the world for the first time. At the moment, air has convinced me that it's made of menthol because so much of it attacks my face at once that my nose feels overwhelmed. If a mouse farted inside the wall, I'd probably smell it. I'm still trying to decide whether or not I like it. Not the mouse fart. The whole actually being able to smell the air around me. 

If you've made it this far, I might as well reward you with some pictures. It's only fair, yes? 

The Look:

Cropped Jean Jacket: LOFT (old)

Dress: Jessica Simpson via Marshall's 

Booties: Old Navy

I wore this jacket in honor of the Looking Lucky challenge and the theme "cropped," but the jacket does not appear to photograph as cropped as I feel it is. I swear I measured it against my regular jean jacket, and it is shorter. If the jacket doesn't suffice, can we agree that booties are just cropped boots? Come on, throw a girl a bone here. I'm wearing a dress with little red heels all over it for crying out loud. (I don't know how that fact helps my case, but I'm throwing it out there anyway.)