The glow weave shirt, the nice pants and boots, the teeth brushed thrice. We're going to the surgeon today...
It's numbing, sitting here in the waiting room, ruminating over the fact that I'm here again. After 18 months, I'm back to square one. I've feel as though I have not advanced a centimeter. I've merely turned a circle.
I'm reminded of a bee I saw a few days ago whilst out for a bike ride with my daughter. It was turning a circle on the kerbside. I guess it must have slapped into a passing car and, somehow, survived the impact. There it was, turning this futile circle, probably brain damaged, unable to do anything else. I feel a sense of camaraderie with that bee in this moment.
I feel I've reached a point where I feel as though things seem irreparable, and no amount of surgical 'tinkering' will get me back to that state where everything just worked.
I fear sleep because every time I lay down, I wonder if this is going to be the night when I drown in my own fluids?
I fear speech because of the crass stares I get when my voice begins to fail & it looks as if I'm going to throw up. I see how they look at me. It's a mix of incredulity and disgust. They take a step or two back, fearful of being in the firing line.
I look at food with ambivalence because I can't taste it, or smell it. I can't smell a flower, or register the scent of Chanel on my wife's skin. There's no olfactory pleasure - just an occasional 'meaty' nothing taste on my tongue that occasionally hints at something rotting.
I wonder if that's me? Am I rotting?
It's a curious thought, isn't it.
The waiting room is full. It's a nice space, if a little full. There are lots of people around me.
I wonder if they're warring with their own minds, the way I am right now?
Impairment of the right inferior constrictor and laryngeal muscles related to a neuroma...
Recent increase in dysphagia...
A tendency towards micropenetration/aspiration events...
For modified barium swallow with speech pathology...
More study. More intelligence gathering. More planning.