Like smelly tick-ridden infested pirates defiling my safe sanctuary as we bob along the coast. Causing biliousness in my belly.
And not even sexy, goodlooking male pirates, at that.
Because, you know, this is hard sometimes, lately. And I've kind of only got you and me to talk myself through it. But some things just shouldn't be allowed in here. So, they're gone.
Instead, I give you icky pictures of my face before the final cast came off a few days ago and then today, which makes it 20 days. See? WC Fields. I TOLD YOU.
I was trying to get the pictures the same size and all but it ends up sort of distorting them a bit. They insist it'll change a ton (ie: my entire face will slowly UN-swell over the next eight months or so). But the bruising at least is healing faster. It's kind of weird that different spots fade faster than others and some part will be less swollen but the part right next to it's not ready or some such thing - it's like a whole new face every day for months and months. Just not a very pretty one.
Trauma, don'tcha know, it's a bitch.
I guess I didn't really say what exactly happened, did I? That's cause mostly I'm not really sure. And I kind of try not to think about it. The po-liceman who came to visit me (but did not bring flowers, the bastard) says they think that either the airbag cover hit me or the airbag was triggered when it was hit by my face slamming into it. Handy those airbags, aren't they? Anyways, the leg was just a bonus prize cause I'm such a good girl.
In the first one, you can just barely see the stitches hanging off the bottom of my nose - well, maybe only I can. My nose IS kind of crooked - I do not know what the fuck that's about - I'm hoping it's swelling pulling it out of whack since I can't imagine they would make me a new and CROOKED nose just to mix up their day. You can't quite see the lump of bone or whatever that's currently poking out of the right side of my cheekbone / nose but I guess it does look a little more swollen on that side. I'm sure we'll find out what that is on Monday.
We already discussed what would happen if they had to do any follow-up surgery once everything heals and that really burns my ass because they can't do it for a year due to the healing and the scar tissue and blah blah blah. That makes me mad as a cut snake (I'm saving a couple of those, thanks guys!) because in a year I'm supposed to be in Costa Rica, and never coming back. The universe needs to get with my program.
I guess we'll just have to see what I end up looking like in the end. It could be one of those 'hmmm, oh fuck THIS, I look FINE and I'm LEAVING' moments.
So far, I kinda look like me. Only puffy. And yellow. And I can't mostly feel spots here and there, except of course inside my nose where it's designed to drive me insane. So, me ... only ... a little different. And my entire face hurts. All the time. But, you know, he did a good job and I should be very grateful.
And I am, except when - like the last few days - I'm NOT.
As I said before, Jen,also and the post traumatic stress theory? Sad, but true, I think. It's just gotta be weathered. Good days and bad. My official stance though is that IT SUCKS AND I HATE IT. But at least I'm still upright.
The on-call pager last night earned me an extra $75. These 12 days of on-call, even if the pager doesn't go off again - will net me a further $420.
I have regrouped and decided that for a while, I can chant endlessly....it's only 9 more months. I've already been there 9 months. I'm halfway there. It was nothin'. This is paying my debt. This is financing my trip. The satisfaction will come in 9 months. I can wait, I can plot, I can plan. I can think of happier things. I *will* think of happier things.
After all, if billions of people can carry a growing life around in their belly for nine months I guess I can carry this for the same amount of time before purging it from my body in a marathon fit of screaming release.
But, I still don't know what to do about that bitch.