Magic Marker Best Shot Monday

Hosted by “Tracy” at “Mother May I,” but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Just call me snap happy.

red BSM Button

Nasty, scary, Halloweenish piccy at the bottom!

20 months ago I had jaw surgery which disrupted our family life quite considerably. Recently, I nipped back to the surgeon to finish off a little unfinished business, a replacement implant and a bone graft, the cause of a great deal more moaning from me.

Once home again, I examine the x-ray closely, just to check that the new dental implant really has been embedded in my jaw, pop a couple of pills, tie an ice-pack around my head and hide the black and white sheet under a pile of other papers. I head off for the easy option, computer time and supervising the creation of new Spores. Their enthusiasm for the new game is a delight and also allows me to have some valuable recovery time. The principle of the game is to design a creature that is best able to survive and reproduce or alternatively, the basics of evolution and Darwinism.

My youngest son talks incessantly as he creates, “dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones.” It's an off shoot from the whirl of Halloween, a holiday that has previously been off the radar but has now been enthusiastically embraced by one and all.

The two headed Spore he has made roars jocularly. “What are you going to name it dear?”
“It is being jus like you!” he beams. I peer at the screen and the lurid coloured, short clawed, long tailed creature.
“It is be having… …she is be having……two necks.”
“Yes, two necks and two heads, funny shaped heads with big……fangs.”
“Yes…..jus like you!”
“But I don't have two heads dear.”
“Hmmmmm………I know……but …….you are having “two necks…unner……under your skin.” How come you are having two necks…………and one head?” This is far too an existential conversation for my tiny brain in my one addled cranium to compute, especially under the influence of Vicodin. My daughter joins us to admire his Spore Creature. “Ooo, I get it! It's just like yur x-ray mom!”

The spinal column appears twice, left and right at the edge of the x-ray!

Not for the first time, I am speechless, either due to jaw ache, head ache or both.


Bookmark and Share

Jaw Surgery – appearances can be deceptive

“Meanwhile, “I repair myself to the school for pick up time.

Outside on the playground, mothers collect and chat. I update my pals as to my current abilities of speech when an unfamiliar face appears. My pals explain my condition, thus saving me a few syllables. I note the blink of a furrow across her brow. Disapproval. There are a thousand unspoken criticisms adrift, all directly linked to a question of priorities – children are a parent's first responsibility, everything is secondary, but how much more so for the parent of a special needs child? She phrases her question with care, subtly, with diplomacy. It translates to, 'what's an old baggage like you having plastic surgery for, you vain old bat, must have more money than sense?'

I blink and think. Her eyes check out my lanky form, not the slim of elegant physique, but the skinny that turns scrawny with age. I have a light bulb moment. I gird my enunciation to offer, “actually, the procedure is covered by my medical insurance, it's not cosmetic.”
“Not cosmetic?”
“I don't understand. If it's not cosmetic why didn't you have it done when you were a kid?”
“I don't really know? I did wear braces, but no-one suggested surgery until I came over here.”
“Well, we do have the best in the world. So how is it different now?”
“They join, I can [or could or will be able to ] eat.”
“What did you do before?”
“Eat with a knife and fork, swallow a lot of chunks, have a great deal of indigestion.”
“Has it always been like that?”
“Er, as long as I can remember.”
“No wonder you're so…… slim,” she adds, softened. Which confirms that we should “never judge a book by it’s cover,” even if it is a bit tatty and decrepid like mine.

My chum leans over to offer, “don't worry, a few weeks without all that string and she'll be as fat as everyone else.”

What a jolly thought.

Bookmark and Share


I determine to be productive after “jaw surgery” and set off into the garden to pull up weeds and remove dead leaves. As my knees bend and I hunker down I whiz through a decompression chamber such that my nose explodes with the shock of being 3 foot lower than usual. I drop the three soggy leaves that I'd selected and head back inside the house to clear up the blood from yet another spontaneous nosebleed.

It's like a conspiracy of sloth has overtaken me. I move rapidly along to plan B.
If I cannot be physically active then instead I'll just let my fingers do the walking and phone the gardening company to come and clear up the mess, damn the cost. I have just finished dialing when I remember that I cannot speak out loud, or at least not so that anyone can understand what I'm saying. Damn – it is a conspiracy.

I am so heartily sick of being ill and idle. I try and remember the things that I used to do before, before……..the children? When I wasn't working my hands were always occupied. I sat down more. Hobbies of the past, or pastimes such as knitting stopped with the last baby blanket. It would appear that every waking moment was filled with children's needs. Once those needs became more complicated, my time disappeared and reformulated itself into extracting words and teaching basic skills. The frantic pace with the mantra 'early intervention' ran through my brain at all times. Every second had to be used constructively. I was all over them like a rash, relentless and frenzied. We had started late, we had so much to catch up on. It was a relentless treadmill of our own making.

I also realize that whilst I didn't have surgery three years ago, two years ago or last year, this year, now, it has been possible, that although we still all have a great deal of growing to do, I can stop obsessing on the trees and admire the forest.[Thanks Kristina]

Bookmark and Share


Number one on the 'to do' list is still untouched ;
1. Find special needs nanny

I ignore number one and add 177, namely, visit library and pay fines. Soon I will have jaw surgery. This will finalise my transformation into a true American. It took the dentist 7 years to persuade me that this was a 'must,' not an optional extra. Three visits 'home' convinced me.
It's a genetic thing. Teeth that don't join anywhere. This means that you swallow your food whole.
This means that you get a lot of tummy aches.

People think that I am an exceptionally polite person, because I eat everything with a knife and fork. People do not see useless teeth that do not join, because I also have a genetic stiff upper lip.

I determine that whatever it is that I'm going to 'achieve' today, it will not involve use of the telephone. It is at that moment, that it rings,
“Hi Maddy! How's the nanny search going?” says the Muse. Her cheery tone is not appreciated but as it is 9:05 a.m. she knows that I won't bark at her.
[translation = not a morning person]
“Er, well, it's top of the list!”
“You're procrastinating huh?”
The reason one has a 'muse' in one's life is to ensure that one keeps on the straight and narrow. Everyone needs a muse. Ideally they should be local, not just physically, but someone who you can call upon to translate foreign phenomena. Mine, my muse, fullfils the first requirement, but is worse than useless on the second. [translation = deviant American]

“So another year of not being able to eat sandwiches, French bread and corn on the cob?”
“It's no great loss, that's why they invented knives and forks.”
“So you've basically done nothing. What about those leads I gave you?”
“They're on the list too.”
“What number?”
“Er, 178 and 179.”
“Great! When is the surgery again?”
“This month?”
“So you basically have less that two weeks to find one.”
“In a nutshell.”

“So this is just an excuse so's you can cancel it again.”
“Rubbish, of course not! Merely 'postpone!'”
“At this rate they'll put you in your coffin still wearing those darned braces!”
“I'll make sure that they change the elastic bands when they embalm me.”
“Exactly how many times have you canceled the surgery over the last 3 years?”
“I forget.” She's a kindly soul and doesn't point out that we both know that I am lying.

I should have had a longer list of criteria for a muse. Now admittedly her psychobabble has been invaluable over the years, but I could do with someone a little more lax. Someone with a little less insight would be handy. Less persistence and attention would be a bonus. She is the sort of person that denies a body 'wriggle room.'

“Look! I know what you're afraid of.”
“ME! AFRAID! Have you gone quite mad? [translation = insane not angry] I'll have you know that I have a very high pain threshold.”

“Depends what kind of 'pain' you're talking about? I know it's not the surgery itself. …… know they'll be fine, just fine. I don't like to say it, but you're not indispensable. The kids'll be fine, the nanny will do great.”

Damn the woman. She's fired.

Related Posts with Thumbnails

Bookmark and Share