Me, at my very worst

Today I present to you a post that I wrote at the height of my recovery from oral surgery -- sometime around August 6 or 7...

Over in Snackie's World, I said that my worst sin was Lust. That was a lie. My greatest sin is Pride.

I like to deny it all the time but this past week has made it painfully clear. I would not leave home most of last week because of how I looked. Half of my face was puffed up and then I started to develop a black eye on that same side. When I finally ventured out on Friday, my mother laughed and said that she wished that she had her camera around. Hmmm. Perhaps this is part of the root why I do not like/trust women as friends. I have had too many women in my life who are ready to kick you when you are down.

So the swelling has disappeared almost completely. But the small area in which it still resides is very important. I may now be able to see my cheekbone again, but I still cannot smile. The muscles that control this on the right side of my face are still out of commission. This means that when I try to smile, only one side of my mouth goes up.

I am starting to feel like my paternal grandmother who suffered from a number of strokes. But I am only 41. And the thought of this being permanent is completely depressing. Because there's a little part of me that is starting to think that it won't get better.

And now the update --

So here I am almost two months later and I am still healing. My mother pointed out that there is still some slight swelling on my face. And that spot? Coincides with a muscle.

I know that I should call the oral surgeon. Because you know that tingling feeling that you get when your arm or foot "falls asleep?" Well, I have that feeling permanently in the right side of my face. Specifically in my lip and partially in my cheek. Basically, something's not right.

And I went to the optometrist again yesterday for the second follow-up. (I went in July and then again in August.) It seems that my eye pressure is on the high end of normal. And I have a family history of glaucoma. So the doctor wants to keep an eye on things, so to speak, because apparently the progress of the disease in African Americans and Latinos is much faster than everyone else. I know. My great grandmother's glaucoma went untreated. She was blind in two years. Of course, given a choice, I think that I'd rather lose my sight before I lost my hearing.

And this makes me think of my stepmother. They moved up her next MRI to Friday. She can't see well and she has lost at least 40% of her hearing. I don't know what the doctors think but I think there's something screwy going on in her brain. Which would make sense since the cancer still resides there.

Yesterday my dad presented me with a proposition -- come up to Sacramento for at least a couple of days a week to stay with my stepmother. He pointed out that we seemed to bond at the nail salon that other time. The problem is that she wants to get out and do things but can't drive. I talked to my mom. (She talked to my dad after I did.) She thinks that I should start going up there on Saturdays even if I get a job. Because she doesn't think that things are looking good and that my dad needs some support. Oh, and I forgot to mention. My dad would pay me for the days I spend there. Part of me feels guilty for taking money for that. But I've been saying for months that he needs to hire someone. So if he would pay a stranger, then why not me?

I don't know. I have an appointment today with the agency I used in the past. In the past, they found work for me within two weeks. We'll see.

In the meantime, my dad applauds all of the cooking I've been doing. Of course, there are the snide remarks about how he hasn't tasted the food. I think he's feeling like Lisa. He knows that cooking is one of those things that keeps me centered. It's like meditation for me. And so there will be more food at some point in this week.