Losing Face

Dale Carnegie once said, "The expression one wears on one's face is far more important than the clothes one wears on one's back." I have always believed that. But what happens when one loses her face? This is the story of when I lost mine.

As we ate dinner the night of December 29, my food tasted funny and I had a headache along the back of my head. My tongue and lip felt a little numb. I'm usually a good cook, so I chalked it up as stress from the holidays. Tomorrow my dad would be 72, and I was going to focus on preparing food for the dinner my mom was having in his memory. I went to bed early, thinking that if I were getting a cold, the extra sleep would help.

When I woke up, Chris and Ben were leaving for a doctor's appointment, Nate was going to his girlfriend's house, and Gracie was heading next door to play for a while. I sat down to have breakfast - a bowl of fresh fruit - and thought it was odd that I was having difficulty eating it. The juice was sliding out of my mouth and down the front of my chin and shirt. I figured I must be getting sick, because now there was no taste in my mouth and my head still hurt. I decided to finish cooking the sweet potatoes for my mom's and after I finished, I didn't feel right. I thought a shower might help, but I still had to make a salad. I chopped up some things for the salad and then took a shower. When I got out of the shower, I looked in the mirror for the first time that day, and the first thing out of my mouth was, "What the fuck is wrong with my face?" Except it sounded like I was under water and a little like Elmer Fudd. My right eye was HUGE - not just bulging out of my eye socket, but it looked like it wanted to jump right off my face. I tried to make a few silly faces, and I could not. The entire right side of my face was frozen. I'd never seen anything like it! My mind was racing, and I thought, "I am having a stroke."

I ran to my computer across the hall and googled stroke symptoms. This is what popped up first:

Symptoms of stroke include trouble walking, speaking, and understanding, as well as paralysis or numbness of the face, arm, or leg. Seek emergency care immediately if you suspect you are having one.

I was having no trouble walking and my arms and legs were fine. I quickly dressed and hollered down to Chris who had just gotten home. I asked him to come upstairs. He was mumbling about something when I said, "Seriously, get up here". He came into the bedroom and I slurred, "Look at my face." He asked what was wrong, and I slurred again, "Look at my face. I think I am having a stroke." I never saw a human being move so fast and not actually get anywhere. He was like a cartoon character running in place, shouting at me that we had to get in the car right away. I told him we needed to keep calm for the kids' sake, and proceeded to give Ben directions for heating up the sweet potato casserole at mom's. I instructed him to take Gracie and head over there and we'd join them after a visit to the doctor, because, I told him, I wasn't feeling well.

Chris (aka Mario Andretti) and I left our house in a hurry. I honestly didn't think he could drive that fast. When we arrived, no one was in the ER waiting room, and after a few initial questions, they ushered me back while Chris continued with paperwork.

I was told after a few hours that they thought I had Bell's Palsy, but not a stroke. They would confirm that the next day when I had an MRI. Chris called my mom and told her what was going on. She and the kids came over to see me and we told them what was happening. I was sure I looked crazy because they all looked scared.

I spent a night at the hospital because they were concerned about my headache. The only thing that helped was morphine, but it only lasted about four hours. I even needed a sedative for the MRI, since I panicked heading into it. I was a mess.

While I am relieved that it was not a stroke, I am absolutely horrified by this illness. It's been two weeks and I am still unable to use the right side of my face. My jaw hurts and the headache is still there, although manageable with medicine. My eyes hurt. I have to drink from a straw. I slur my speech. I cannot taste well, but the hardest part is how I feel about myself. I am unattractive. I can't stand looking in the mirror. I cannot smile, kiss my husband, sing, or make an embouchure to play my flute. If I'm in the group of 85% that heals from this thing, all of those things will eventually return. But for now, I'm just stuck, stuck in a self-pity rut.

This is my new smile.

My kids, I have learned, know what it means to love unconditionally. They really do not care what I look like. They still want to tell me about their day, share their experiences with them, and hug me a lot. My husband makes an effort, but I see his look - he is as afraid as I am that I'll be stuck like this permanently, with a face that neither one of us recognize. My face, it turns out, is my identity. Without it, I'm just not me. Let's hope it's just for now.