Eighteen months ago, I had some plastic surgery on my face. I had a implant to strengthen my chin, work around my eyes to freshen them, and a rhinoplasty to flatten out my humped dorsum that I never liked, and thin out the end of it as well. The procedures went well. I killed two birds with one stone by having a shoulder surgery done back to back with the facial work.
Fast forward to yesterday. I had scheduled a follow-up surgery for my nose. The end of the nose still appeared swollen, almost Ted Kennedy-ish. My surgeon was happy to make an adjustment at no charge. The only costs related to the procedure was the cost of the anesthesiologist (er...and the botox and juvederm I had added while I was out).
Last thing I remembered before the Versed took effect and killed my memory was the vista out the windows of large snowflakes falling gently down.
After being unconscious for two hours, and having gone through the post-op recovery, my wife picked me up and took me home. Snow everywhere, but the roads were pretty good. Arriving home, we parked at the top of our steep and icy driveway. I was still foggy from the anesthesia (but didn't realize it at the time), and made my way down the edge of the driveway, which had more snow which allowed me better footing. However, at the bottom, literally six feet from flat and navigable ground, I slipped, pirouetted a full 180 degrees, then fell forward uphill, slamming my face and forehead onto the pavement without my arms to break the fall.
My wife and kids were at the top of the driveway, and all heard the literal thud of my face making contact. Since I still some anasthesia on board (medical lingo for still in my blood), the full impact of the pain didn't register. My first thought? This is what it feels like for all those bone headed jackass wanna-bes who allow shows like 'The World's Dumbest (fill in the blank)" to thrive. My second thought was concern about the condition of the work my surgeon had just done on my nose. Not only was the work just a few hours hold, but my doc was making no money off of the follow up fix.
911 was called, my wife on the phone panicky over my potential injuries. I was embarrassed, hurt and for whatever reason, chose that time to start cursing at the top of my lungs.
"Hang up the fucking phone!"
"I'm ok, Goddammit, don't call the fucking aid car!"
"Let's just fucking call Dr. R------- (plastic surgeon)!!"
"Fuck! Why aren't you fucking listening to me!"
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| This isn't me, but he does look like I felt |
Eventually, someone showed up. But all I hear is my wife yelling that "they went to the wrong address!" My 15 year old daughter, under direct orders from my wife, runs like Forrest Gump down the street and around the corner to where the aid car and firetruck were waiting. Out of breath, she tells them they're a block away.
Oddly, they ask her, "Are you ok? is your mom ok? do you have any siblings?" My daughter assures them that no one else is hurt, just yours truly who took the faceplant on his newly modified nose. The firemen were waiting for police back-up due to a possible dangerous situation. My yelling was interpreted as someone not only hurt, but going postal.
Eventually, I was brought into our house, and every good looking, handsome and young firemen was examining me (at least, that's how my wife described them...later). To be safe, they placed me on a backboard, put on a neck collar, and strapped me into the aidcar so I was completely immobile, notwithstanding any concerns of comfort.
Traveling in the back of the aid car, the EMT was calling ahead to the emergency. It reminded me of that old show 'Emergency One' where the main dudes always called the doctor for advice on emergency situations (Rampart?).
My surgeon visited me to check out any potential damage to my nose. Fortunately, everything looked good. Some extra swelling, to be sure, but no sutures busted or other damage. It turns out that I had a plastic splint on my nose as protection for the many subcutaneous micro-sutures keeping varios pieces of cartlidge in place. My faceplant must have sent the thing flying. Dr. R joked that we'll probably find it in the spring when the snow melts (I will definitely blog a photo of it, if it's found). Fortunately, he noted, that splint probably absorbed much of the energy of the faceplant, saving my nose from more damage. Wow.
Finally, after another 90 minutes in the emergency room, which included a visit to the radiologist for some x-rays to rule out spine/neck damage, I was released into my wife's care at 6pm.
By this time, the snow had been falling for hours, the sun had long set, and the temperatures had dropped into the mid 20s (very cold for the Seattle area). We recently bought an Escalade, meaning heavy and 4x4 - great for the snow. As we braved our way home (with me being the asshole back seat driver the whole way), we passed dozens of abandoned automobiles, cars stuck in ditches, cars sliding backwards down hills. We happen to live on the top of a substantial hill, with only three arterials that realistically allowed commuters to get home. My wife was such a trooper. With cars littering the hill, having made it up to various points before losing momentum or otherwise finding their cars unable to continue, Leslie swerved between and around the cars, often gunning it up the opposing lane to get around especially onerous groupings of stalled cars.
Home at last, I took special care to make it down the driveway and into the house, and finally into bed for the night.
What a day.
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