Sometimes I can't believe I pay that guy to do what he does, or walk in there voluntarily. Little topical anesthesia, even -- just this horrible vacuum sound, the feel of cold metal against the inside of my nostrils. Next thing I know, it's like he's trying to pop open some cheek-latch or tap a tooth out like a misplaced bent nail in my skull.
I'm sure Mr. Nosuch himself would be impressed with that doctor's array of devices. One to hold the nostrils open, another to probe the reaches of the sinuses. The vacuum is so strong it feels like my teeth are being pulled out of my mouth -- from above, through my nose!!!
To make matters worse, he's scolding me all the while because he can smell that one little cigarette I had this morning. One. Far cry from the 20-30 per day I was smoking just a couple of weeks ago.
I think the guy is good at what he does. When all is said and done, as the cold sweat on my forehead evaporates into a rush of cool relief, I breathe in deeply and realize for a moment that there was an improvement.
Oh, but at what price!
I know that for the rest of the day the roof of my mouth will ache, my eyes will feel tired and sore, and I will struggle to exercise patience with my little ones (and succeed for the most part). I hope I don't drive my wife nuts in the meanwhile.
"It is getting better every time, no?" Dr. Mistry is the champion of optimism, and keeps swearing that some of his patients have returned requesting the vacuum cleansing even though not part of a required post-op treatment.
They must be the ones who finally ended up losing those small, but helpful portions of their brains to that vicious vacuum machine, the parts that tells you when something is wrong -- something seriously hurts in there..." I think to myself.
I pray I don't have to have a second surgery. He said we won't know until this one is completely healed up and I have another CAT scan somewhere several weeks down the road. Who'd have ever thought it was that important to have a certain degree of air in your head.
