Dates stick in my brain, particularly when there are events connected to them. Tomorrow marks the 19th anniversary of the Port Arthur Massacre… but, I digress…
Today marks the 20 year anniversary of a complete jaw reconstruction (mandibular something or other within the cranio/maxillofacial surgery unit). I don’t have photos of the occasion, as for some reason my parents believed that noone would want to see the gruesome aftermath of surgery. If only they knew then the interest of social media networks. But, that aside, the event happened without the now mandatory before, during, and after ‘selfies’. (Though the surgeon did take before and after shots for his medical students).
My lower jaw was pushed quite far back – with some of the bones pushing against my trachea. Surgical intervention was proposed when I was 13 and preparation began.
On the 27th April 1995, at 15 years of age, I spent just under a whole work day on the operating theatre. The surgeon and staff at the Royal Adelaide Hospital were fantastic on the day of admission. I was welcomed with warmed blankets and a sheepskin rug to lay on for the duration of the procedure. Staff were quick to tell me that they had heard all about me and put me at ease before being anaethetised.
The story goes that the surgeon spent almost 7 hours close to laying on the ground to perform the operation, knowing that my neck would not handle any movement. Approximately 0.5cm was removed from my top palate and the lower jaw moved down and forward 2.5cm. The surgeon informs me that it was one of the biggest reconstructions he had done. Approximately 43 screws and a hunk of bone from my hip later, I was put back together and sent to intensive care!
From arriving at the hospital at 7am, I remember briefly seeing a clock and my parents at 530pm, thinking that I must have been mistaken: that much time could not have passed since I last saw them, surely. I woke more around 730pm to my surgeon peering over my bed. I remember smiling at him and seeing my family around. (Mum says she could actually see the smile!).
The rest is a case of countless boring details, with some interesting stories mixed throughout.
The ward wasn’t pleasant.It was dark and dreary. Staff were generally unaccustomed to having a teenage girl with an interesting medical history on the ward. I single-handedly brought the average age of the ward from 86 down to 62. Or something like that. The ward was filled with very ill ladies and gentlemen, many of whom did not return home to their loved ones. At 15, this was a little traumatic. It did, however, act as a catalyst for recovery. I was scheduled to spend 3 days in ICU then a week in the ward. Suffice it to say that within 5 days of surgery I was homeward bound!
I love and appreciate nurses, but one of the most vivid memories of this time was the first time I got out of bed. I’d had drains removed from my hip and from my neck (I really must have looked like some kind of monster out of the deep) – I refer to the neck drains as over-sized earrings that looked like hand grenades. Probably not appropriate given that Anzac day was 2 days ago, but …
Anyway, back to the story. I hadn’t been out of bed. I wasn’t sure what damage having bone taken from my hip would have done and I certainly wasn’t sure that walking to the loo and seeing my face in the mirror was the best idea either 😀 Mum asked a nurse for help as I needed to pee (I couldn’t talk – and I was going to save you the details, but hey, when you gotta go … ). Mum was bluntly told: “She can walk, get her out of bed!” … fair call. Maybe. So, we looked at each other and tentatively sat on the side of the bed. For those of you who’ve had general anaesthetics, you’ll know that the first time ‘up’ can be a little unstable. We managed the journey quite tentatively; I cried tears of joy as my face didn’t resemble that of the sea monster I’d envisaged and headed back to bed. (I must say, I am thankful for my dad who, I know, spent a lot of time with a damp cloth cleaning my face post op).
A few hours later, after the doctor had been through, the same nurse was totally different with me – doting and doing her best to see that I was abundantly cared for… Me thinks she finally read my notes 😉
I had visits from some dear friends. Others chose to stay away. I don’t blame them.
I spent an entire term of Grade 11 at home, completing work that was sent home for me to do to help keep me up to date. It was a long process. I couldn’t say “Bucky Beaver” or anything with a “B” for some time.
I grew weary of soup and straws. I think it took around 10 years before I regained an appreciation for soup! My hip healed, and I returned to school to finish school with everyone else.
Of course, the surgeon suggested we wait another year and do it again to complete the job as he couldn’t ‘fix’ my jaw completely in one operation. I politely declined. I think I’ll be ok.
It’s hard to think that 20 years ago life stood still for a bit. I remember being well supported and loved. I remember seeing my face in the mirror that day that I first moved from the bed. Ever surprised by what I saw. Swollen, large and changed. I cried tears of relief and remember saying to mum : “It’s beautiful” … tears well in my eyes even now as I think of how I felt. Years of anxiety over this operation culminated and brought to a head by one view in the mirror. It’s beautiful. It’s all going to be ok …
And it still is … going to be ok, that is. I often forget that we’ve been through a lot and come through. I’m currently facing more again, and I need to remember that it’s going to be ok.
PS – I’ll try to find out my school photo’s from 1995 & 1996 to show the difference!
(Image credit: 20th anniversary picture stolen from dreamstime.com via Google images- sorry)
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