saviabella

Smiling Bella featured on Willow's Web Astrology

2008-05-11T12:41:00.002-06:00

My friend Willow, an astrologer, has used my post-jaw surgery recovery as an example of "Saturn in Virgo" behaviour and linked to my Smiling Bella website in the May issue of her monthly Astro Perspective. She says:

Saturn has been going retrograde for the past three months or so, allowing us to come to terms with a lot of issues related to health, diet, personal habits and trimming the fat in all areas of life/self - whatever we need to deal with before moving forward in life. Saturn has forced us to take responsibility for being our best selves and for making the adjustments and refinements we know we need to make in order for our lives (and ourselves) to function long-term in a sustainable, healthy way....
Virgo relates to service, self-mastery and holistic health, so we’re being challenged to make the changes we know we need to make in the pursuit of holistic health - body, mind, emotions, spirit....

I've noticed people doing a lot of home renovation projects lately (definite Virgo territory - related to improving what already exists) and dealing with long-standing health issues.
A textbook Saturn in Virgo experience is the one my journalism school friend, Bella, is going through (major jaw surgery). Check her story out at: http://www.smilingbella.com/. Bella’s taking responsibility for having a pain-free life - doing what she needs to do and dealing with (relatively) short-term pain for long-term gain. Virgo is co-ruled by Chiron (healing) and Mercury (communication), so jaw surgery affecting her speech and the healing process afterward are very much Saturn in Virgo territory.

It was helpful to see my situation through her lens and to be reminded that all of the discomfort and difficulty I've been facing lately is necessary for me to have a better quality of life in the long run.

If you're interested in astrology, I'd highly recommend Willow's sites. I am always amazed at how her insights speak directly to my life (even when I'm not mentioned.)

Un-bridaled shower

2008-05-10T19:00:00.009-06:00

The Bee is marrying her soul mate in a few weeks, so you know what that means: more wedding showers and stagettes for Savia. If you haven't figured it out already, I'll spell it out: I'm not a traditional kinda gal. If I ever get married, which I'm not entirely sure I want to do, there will be no white dress, no bridesmaids, and no minister telling me who and when to kiss. Savia don't play that.

But I accept that not everyone is like me, and what I want most is for my friends to be happy and have the kind of weddings they can look back on with no regrets. So, even though it's not what I would do, I support their decisions and play along with the traditions.

But that doesn't mean that I'm well-behaved at these events, as we have witnessed. So far, there was the wedding where I traumatized an old lady by making out with Jane, the one where Jane and I tried to go skinny dipping, and the one where I made out with the bride at the reception head table and created no end of havoc.

I think a pattern is emerging. Hey, it's not my fault there are always hot chicks at these things.

A few weeks ago, I got two invites: one to the Bee's stagette, and the other to her wedding shower. The invitation said that the theme of the stagette was "A Glamorous Stagette" and that we should all dress "glam" for it.

I got excited, and wrote back: "Now, how 'glam' are we talking? Will people be wearing prom dresses?" because I thought that was a pretty awesome concept for a stagette. I was impressed the Bee's friend had thought of it, because I had been under the impression that she was a more traditional type.

The response I got back was laden with diplomacy. (The voice I hear in my head when I read it is very flat and stilted, like, "I'm trying very hard not to judge you.") It said: "In terms of 'glam', it can be anything you feel fabulous in. Now if it's a prom dress, go for it, but I don't know that anyone has expressed taking it that far. I am wearing a little black dress or a pair of nice black dress pants with a sexy top (weather pending)."

Of course, I couldn't just leave it at that. I wrote back: "Clearly, my brain doesn't work the same as normal people's. When I read 'glam', I think either prom dress or 80s glam rocker. Or an interesting combination of the two. Which, come to think of it, hmmmm....."

Which elicited another heavily diplomatic response to wear whatever I felt comfortable in. So, yeah, not as non-traditional as I had thought.

Last night was the Bee's wedding shower, a potluck affair. I've met her close friends in passing on several occasions, but I really don't know them well. In fact, I pretty much didn't know anyone at the event, save the Bee and her mom. But there were mimosas, so that helped.

After the munching, we, of course, had to play shower games. I am, for the most part, anti-shower games. Though I will pick wedding shower games over lame baby shower games any day of the week. And did I mention that there were mimosas? Because there were. And they were good.

Still, when they announced that we were going to play the "let's made wedding dresses out of toilet paper" game, I threw up in my mouth a little. For one, the tree hugger in me cringes to see toilet paper being wasted this way. But it also always goes the same way - everyone makes traditional wedding dresses out of toilet paper. There's creativity, but it's all within a narrow traditional vein.

When I got put in a group with the funky bridesmaid with the face piercings, bleach blond spiky hair, and funky fashion sense, I jumped up and down. If anyone was going to be cool with my plans, it would be her. The other two women who were in our group were older ladies who were friends with the Bee's mom.

I sucked back my mimosa with one gulp and announced to my group, "Okay, here's the concept: we're going with slutty chic."

I was surprised when not only did they not bat an eyelash at my suggestion, but they also embraced it. One of the ladies immediately said, "The dress needs to be crotchless!" I liked her.

As the three other teams made strapless, elegant toilet paper gowns, we fashioned a bikini top, crotchless thong panties, knee pads and wrist guards. We topped it off with over sized bows on her head and ass, and circular glow sticks underneath her top so it would look like her nipples were glowing through the toilet paper.

And the piece de resistance? When my idea for nipple tassels didn't work out, I said, "It just needs something more...I know! She needs a whip." The two older ladies jumped to the task, braiding a whip handle out of toilet paper with a makeshift cat o' nine tails.

In case you were wondering, we totally won the competition. Who says tradition has to be boring?

Shhh...mommy doesn't like it when you cry

2008-05-06T22:57:00.006-06:00

My blog is a toddler today.

Let me rephrase that: my blog is a toddler with a deadbeat mother who was too busy to notice that her spawn was celebrating a blogiversary today.

While her three-year-old blog was at home alone, unsupervised, in an Interweb full of pointy edges and German orthodontic fetishists, this blog's sole parent was out whooping it up, drinking a whole glass of red wine and painting the town Merlot with her craaaaaazy party friend Nat.

In fact, said drunken, neglectful mother did not even realize it was her toddler's blogiversary until she checked her Crackberry for shits and giggles and noticed a few new comments on her last post from blogiversary well-wishers.

Absolute strangers who are kind enough to stop by people's blogs on their blogiversaries. Strangers who would probably report Savia to the authorities of the blogiverse if they realized the extent to which she neglects her blog and its important milestones.

So, Saviabella Blog, mommy is really sorry she forgot your birthday.

Again.

But next year will be different, I promise.

Now drink this bottle of cough syrup and go to bed already.

Wait, let me take a sip of that first...

Cheers, Internets!
Here's to another year of debauchery and ninja fucking!

In-valid

2008-04-30T21:51:00.005-06:00

I'm struggling. Struggling to be well. Struggling to maintain a positive attitude. Struggling against the perceptions of others. Just struggling.

It's funny. You prepare and you do your research and you're ready for the worst when going in for major surgery. But that's the easy part. What they don't tell you is what happens afterward.

When you get your face cracked open, you expect that there will be massive swelling, nasty bruises and grotesque stitches. You mentally prepare yourself for that, and when it happens, it's not quite as bad as you thought it would be. You figure that once your jaw gets unwired and the physical signs of the procedure are gone, you're home free.

If you want the truth, I would gladly go back to having my jaw wired shut right now. Because the moment the wires came off was when things started getting difficult.

I expected that it would be tough to eat for awhile, but not for as long as it has been. I still can't eat anything chewy or hard (raisins or fresh vegetables, for instance), because I literally can't chew it. And it's been more than two and a half months since the surgery now.

I expected that my mouth would have a limited opening for awhile, but I didn't expect that getting my range of motion back would be such a painful, slow struggle.

I expected that I would have some pain and that I might be tired, but I didn't expect that every physical action would be so exhausting.

Anesthetic stays in your body for up to a year after surgery. It slows you down, you forget things, you lose your train of thought, you stumble into doorways, and you get tired easily. After major surgery, your immune system is compromised, you're more susceptible to viruses and they hit you a lot harder than they did before.

You go to the mirror and see someone staring back at you who looks fantastic and you can't figure out why she just can't get her shit together already. The surgery is over. The time off work is over. Why is it getting harder instead of easier? What the hell is wrong with me?

One day, I posted this status on Facebook: "Savia looks absolutely fabulous but feels utterly miserable." It's rare that I have a status that is less than racy or bizarre, so a friend of mine who had major brain surgery a few years ago responded with concern. I wrote him back:

It's the post-surgery stuff. Everyone is so supportive when you're just out of surgery and you look like hell. Flowers, cards, understanding, etc. But once you look okay, they forget that you've been through this major procedure and treat you like you're back to normal. But you're not.

I'm finding right now to be one of the most difficult times because I look great - you'd never know I had surgery. However, I'm so tired and everything is an effort. I misplace things, use the wrong words, forget what I'm doing, etc. Stupid anesthetic brain. Anyway, it's tough.

How long was it for you until you felt fully functional after surgery?

His response was right on the mark:

How long? In my case, I'm still waiting....The way I thought about what you're describing was to re-pronounce the word 'invalid' - i.e. as 'valid' with a prefix, meaning 'not a valid person.' I suspect that like mine, your inner person is seeking validation for the experience and the way it's making her feel. How to find validation? I dunno. Is it frivolous to suggest dark eye shadow UNDER the eyes, a sallow make-up foundation, and a carefully understated limp?

It felt good to talk to someone who knows what this is like. These days, I just feel frustrated. Frustrated that I can't do everything that I could do before. Frustrated that anything that contributes to my stress levels becomes unmanageable quickly. Frustrated that just when I think I'm doing okay, something as simple as chanting in a mellow yoga class re-injures my jaw and leaves me with crippling migraines for four days straight.

Frustrated that the people around me respond, if at all, with patronization or their own frustration at my lack of ability to be my usual high-functioning, overachieving, reliable self.

Frustrated, alienated, alone. Depressed. In-valid.

More ninja fucking shirts

2008-04-27T19:30:00.006-06:00

I got a comment the other day from a new reader, John, who was admiring my "ninja fuck my blog" shirts* and asked, "Does it come in blue for boys?"

Well, it does now!**

Saviabella for Men by saviabella

The small writing on this shirt means that you'll have women (or men, depending on your preference, of course) cozying up to you to read your shirt. Guaranteed to get you lots of attention wherever you go.

And, as always, we still have the two other styles available for the ladies:

Pink Saviabella Tee

Saviabella Blog Tee Reverse

If anyone else has T-shirt design requests, please let me know. Here at Casa Bella, we aim to please those who aim to ninja fuck this blog.

*Anyone wondering how the term "ninja fuck" came to be associated with this blog should read this entry.

**To buy any of these shirts, you have to have a Zazzle account, which you can get at www.zazzle.com. Also, you have to change your Zazzle "account settings" to PG13. Then, you'll be able to click on the link and get your very own smut shirt. Not sure why Zazzle makes all this so complicated. Maybe I need to take my ninja fucking business elsewhere?

I be pimpin', yo

2008-04-27T12:58:00.004-06:00

My blog has been featured in the most recent edition of Five Star Friday. What is this Five Star Friday of which I speak, you ask?

Well, it's the brain child of my good friend Schmutzie, who wanted to spread some good warm fuzzy karma around the blog world. But she's not the one who decides which entries are featured - anyone can submit their favourite entries and they get on the list. No judgement, no hierarchies, no playing favourites. Just a place to share great writing, in all its forms. Not to pimp it out or anything. Except I'm totally pimping it out because it rocks.

Speaking of good writing, the post from my blog that was chosen for this week's Five Star Friday was not written by me. It was a guest post written by the fabulous Madam Diva, who is wholly deserving of five stars and then some.

So, please check out Five Star Friday, consider submitting your favourite posts from the blogs you read, and swing by Diva's place to show her some love.

Which reminds me, I still owe Diva a guest post. How on earth am I going to live up to the one she wrote me?

Willkommen, Welcome

2008-04-23T22:13:00.006-06:00

A few months ago, I started a second blog to chronicle my jaw surgery. My vision was that it would be a site for people seeking out information about what to expect when they went under the bone saw. I also saw it as a good way for my co-workers, family and friends to see how I was doing while I was at home recovering. The site contains all of the entries I've written here on the topic, and also has some additional information geared at people facing jaw surgery.

As it's a site for public consumption, I removed all swearing and references to sex from the entries before I cross posted them at Smiling Bella. Maybe I'm being overly cautious, but I'm guessing my co-workers do not want to envision me playing with sex toys and ninja fucking. (Well, there may be a couple who wouldn't mind - I'm looking at you, Diva - but they would be in the minority.)

It's a specialized site that I've promoted on the jaw surgery forums I frequent, so it has a small, specific audience. I get an average of 15-30 hits per day, with spikes that reach 50-60 at the highest. So, when I went to my stats page the other day and saw that my jaw surgery blog had gotten 599 hits in one day, I was more than a little surprised.

I did some digging to see where all of these new readers were coming from, and the same website popped up for all of them. It appeared to be a forum for people with braces. When I tried to click on the link, it wouldn't let me in without a user name and password. So, I created one, expecting admission would be immediate. Not so much. My membership had to be approved by the site administrator first. While I waited for the approval, I watched my stat counter reach more than 500 hits again the next day.

When I finally received my Willkommen email (that should have been my first sign), I began clicking around to see what the site was about and why I was suddenly so popular.

While nothing on the site is overtly stated, it quickly became clear to me that it isn't a support group for people with braces, as I had assumed by its name.

It is...

wait for it...

a German orthodontic fetish site.

Yes, my friends, there are smarmy German dudes jerking off to my shiny silver smile and imagining their jizz dripping off my arch wires.

And now, you're not going to be able to get that image out of your head, are you? Sorry about that. But I figure that I should not be left alone with my overactive and disgusting imagination, so I'm bringing you along with me.

The page where my jaw surgery blog URL is posted is titled, "erwachsene frauen" or "adult women" and all it contains is links and links and links to pictures of women with braces. The pictures aren't dirty or provocative, just pictures of unsuspecting women smiling with braces on their teeth. I imagine that part of the thrill for these guys is the fact that the women don't know their pictures are being used in this way; they are unknowing participants or even victims of this fetish.

And while part of me is a little disturbed by this development, I do have to note that after my URL were not one, but two exclamation points.

Yup, braces or not, I've still got it.

Celebratory censorship

2008-04-21T19:34:00.004-06:00

I ran into my good friend Nat at the sex show this weekend. After the requisite, "What did you buy?" questions - She: nothing yet. Me: beige 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets - ...

(Yes, I know. I went to a sex show and bought not just cotton sheets, but beige cotton sheets. But in my defense, it's because my goodie drawer runneth over with every interesting sex toy worth owning. That, and I also bought some very cute pasties. But more on that later.)

...she informed me that my blog had been censored at our friend's workplace. He had tried to read my blog on one of his breaks and instead of being entertained with stories of cucumber dildos, sex toys and ninja fucking (come on, how can you not buy one of those shirts?), he got a message stating that my site had been blocked for "pornographic content."

Upon learning this, I jumped up and down and cheered, "Yay! I've been censored by workplaces!" Because, really, when the search terms that bring people to your blog include "italian lesbian porn" and "my boobs hurt from all that fucking", you kind of expect these things to happen. And it's far more fun to celebrate them than it is to lament them.

Today, I was bragging D-man about my new-found censorship celebrity and he gave me some seemingly foolproof advice to help my readers get around this little problem. While there are a number of services that allow people to surf banned websites without being tracked, many workplaces are aware of these and ban them as well (as is the case in our friend's workplace.) But, there's a way around that, too, thanks to smartypants D.

Go to Google Translate and type the blog URL under "Translate a Web Page." Then, instead of translating it into another language, pick a language you wish my blog was in and "translate" it from that into English - Korean to English, Portuguese to English, Italian to English - it doesn't matter. My blog is all multi-cultural that way. Upon "translating" to English, the blog will pop up on the Google page and will register as a Google hit instead of a hit on my blog, thus avoiding the censorship entirely.

Because the only thing cooler than being censored by my friend's workplace is teaching people how to stick it to the censors.

You're welcome.

Now, surf safe, and don't forget to wear protection. You never know what kind of viruses you could pick up on some of these naughty blogs.

Just get a Rock Chick already

2008-04-16T10:09:00.001-06:00

This made me laugh out loud. Gotta love those Brits. Enjoy!

Tools of the trade

2008-04-14T18:21:00.006-06:00

Tomorrow marks the two-month anniversary of my jaw surgery. It's hard to believe that eight weeks has passed since my super high-five happy times, but here we are.

The bruising is gone, the swelling is gone, those awful wires binding my jaw together are gone, and people tell me that I look like a million bucks. And yet, my recovery is not over. Not in the least. There's the small matter of being able to open my mouth and chew things (and the other delightful things that are possible when you can open your mouth fully, if you get my drift.) Yeah, that little detail.

After I got my jaw unwired, I could only open my mouth a few millimetres. My surgeon gave me some exercises to do to help get my opening back. After one month, I was only able to open my mouth 15 millimetres.

In case you're wondering how much that is, here's a ruler. Put some household objects up to it and imagine only being able to open your mouth that wide.

15 mm = One thumb's width.
The diameter of a small coin.
Less than one Scrabble tile.
And keep in mind, it's 15 mm, teeth to teeth.

Do you know what you can eat when you can only open your mouth 15 mm? Not a whole lot. Unless you chop it up into eensie teensie little pieces.

The situation of sharing the same food as my friend's baby was getting kind of old. Not to mention the fact that Superstar was very much out of luck on Steak and a Blow Job Day this year. I mean, the guy was already out of luck on the steak part because he's a vegetarian, but to miss out on the BJ? Well, I had to get on top of that sucker. So, I ran to my physiotherapist, stat.

She stretched my jaw, moved it around, massaged it, and then handed me this:

I wondered if perhaps she was giving me some tools
so I could break into the pharmacy late at night
and swipe some of the good drugs
so I would no longer care that I couldn't really eat
or service my man.

Alas, this was not the case.
I was supposed to use this device to stretch my mouth open.
That piece on the end goes into your mouth,
and then you use the grip to crank it open.

Seriously??
Look, I don't like you, and you don't like me,
but we're in this together, so we better make the best of it, alright?

At first, I couldn't even get my mouth around the thing.
But after a few stretches, I was ready.
I wasn't able to crank it open for quite some time,
but after a few weeks of baby steps...

Crank, crank, crank, crank, crank.
That's five, in case you were counting.
25 millimetres.

25 mm=two finger widths
The spine of a substantial self-help book
The width of a fork.

And might I mention,
it feels as comfortable as it looks.

The thing is, 25 mm is not enough. My surgeon won't let me go back to my orthodontist for braces adjustments until I reach 30 mm. And I am not considered fully recovered from this surgery until I have a "functional opening", which is around 40 mm. The physiotherapy torture device has 10 clicks on it. I have only been able to reach 5-6 clicks at this point.

This is what the torture device looks like when open 10 clicks.
Incidentally, 10 clicks is what I need to work up to in order to
...ahem...
make Superstar a happy camper.
We measured.

More than a little daunting.

Infuriating, really.

But mostly depressing.

But I'll keep at it. I'm a trooper that way. A pathetic trooper who can't open her mouth wide enough to eat an ice cream cone, but a trooper nonetheless.

No surprises here

2008-04-10T23:57:00.005-06:00

I took one of those online Myers-Briggs personality tests (found via JAB_au.) They always come out the same. I'm an INFJ, which is the rarest of personality types. Only one per cent of the population falls into this category. This either makes me very special or very misunderstood. Or both.

I found it interesting to note that the list includes Adam Sandler, Chaucer and Oprah. We INFJs are an eclectic group, to say the least.

What's your personality type?

There will be blood

2008-04-07T22:25:00.004-06:00

Warning Sign #1 that you may need to scale down the painkillers:

You read the label on one of your pill bottles as: "Take with blood" and then contemplate (for several moments) how you would go about doing this, before finally realizing that it actually says: "Take with food."

Reason #33

2008-04-03T18:47:00.006-06:00

Remember when I wrote that list of 32 reasons I love Superstar for his 32nd birthday? Well, I was thinking, technically, it's his 33rd year on the planet, so I should be able to add another reason to the list, right? One to grow on, let's say.

#33. I've been sick. Like really sick. Like whole body aches, can't get out of bed, coughing up a lung, unable to digest food, living in PJs, not leaving the house for two weeks kind of sick. Oh, and did I mention that my jaw's still healing, which means I'm not allowed to chew anything yet? Good, good times for Savia.

Superstar has come to visit every day, just showing up on my doorstep unannounced. Yesterday was the sickest I can remember being for a long time. Running to the bathroom every few minutes, being unable to digest so much as broth. He brought biscotti and made gourmet rooibos tea for me to soak it in so it would be soft enough to gum down.

Surprisingly, it did settle my stomach. Why was it that I had done the same thing for myself all day and it just made me sicker, but when he did it, it made everything better?

Today, he showed up with groceries: ginger root to make stomach-calming tea, bananas, strawberries and instant oatmeal. He knew I was running out of gummable, palatable food and was too sick to pick up my own supplies.

That was so very thoughtful and sweet, and in my weakened state, enough to make my knees buckle a bit.

But then he dealt the final blow...not only did he get the organic oatmeal, but he read all of the labels and compared them to each other to find the package with the highest amount of fibre and the lowest amount of sugar. To make sure I was getting the most nutritional bang for his buck.

Worth an addition to the list, no?

Now, please excuse me while I gum down a bowl of minced strawberries.

Poke me, baby

2008-03-30T23:18:00.008-06:00

One of the things that stressed me the most about having jaw surgery was the possibility that there would be nerve damage, leaving my chin and lower lip numb for a year or perhaps forever. My orthodontist told me the likelihood of permanent nerve damage increases with your age. As a 32-year-old undergoing the surgery, I had a 32% chance of permanent numbness.

That didn't sound fun. I mean, I have fabulous lips and I know how to use them. Like I don't want to feel it when the hot, sexy Superstar bites my lower lip while we're making out? This prospect was thoroughly unacceptable and made me determined to be in the 68% of people who regain full feeling in their lips and chin.

So, I did what I've done with pretty much everything surrounding this surgery: obsessive-compulsive research, or OCR for short. I found a number of homeopathic and natural remedies to help reduce inflammation and nerve pain, and I investigated acupuncture to help rejuvenate nerves.

I also stalked jaw surgery survivors. A friend had the surgery in her 40s and ended up with permanent nerve damage in her chin. When she finally discovered acupuncture, which helped her get some of the feeling back, the practitioner told her that he could have helped her get all of it back...if she had only come to him one month after the surgery, instead of one year later.

Some sharp needles in my face vs. not being a full participant in raunchy make-out sessions = easy decision. I made the appointment for two weeks after the surgery. Stat.

You talkin' to me?
Can you tell I took this shot myself?

I had gone for acupuncture before, with mixed results. One practitioner took on too many patients. So many that she made her storage closet into a treatment room. You'd be lying on the table, immobile (because needles were piercing various body parts, and moving would shoot pain up your limbs), and someone would walk in, reach up to pull something off the shelf above your head, and leave. And then someone else would do the same a few minutes later. She was also so busy that she'd forget needles in you. I stopped going to her after discovering a large needle in my ankle and having to pull it out myself.

The other practitioner I saw could barely speak English. She had such a heavy Chinese accent that the majority of conversations with her involved the phrases, "What?" "Excuse me?" and "I'm sorry, I don't understand," as well as a fair bit of gesticulating. I don't know about you, but when someone is coming at you with a handful of sharp needles, it kind of helps to know what they're saying.

Regarding the acupuncture itself, both of the practitioners I saw were great at it and their treatments helped me feel a lot better. But when you've got a broken jaw, you just want to go to someone you're comfortable with. Fortunately, my new naturopath also practices acupuncture. I was relieved to discover this, as I really liked her, even though her elimination diet had nearly pushed me over the edge the last time I saw her.

A great up-the-nose shot.
But you can see all the homeopathic and natural remedies in the background.

Plus, I have a cute nose, right?

I usually find acupuncture really relaxing. I go into a meditative state, and sometimes, I feel like I am levitating out of my body. Not this time, though, because my naturopath and I were goofing around with my camera, trying to get a shot that showed the needles in my face. The facial acupuncture needles are even thinner than the regular kind, so it was really hard to get them to show up in pictures.

Finally, we got a good one!

When she took the needles out from behind my ears, it was the strangest sensation - it felt like they were still there. I rubbed my skin, concerned that this was acupuncture déjà vu all over again, when she said, "Does it feel like they're still there? That means the chi is working."

I didn't know what that meant. But all I knew was that two weeks after my surgery, I had about 75% of the feeling back in my chin and lower lip. In the days following the acupuncture treatment, my feeling came back rapidly. By the one month post-surgery mark, I had 95% of it back, and today, I would say that I'm at about 98%.

Am I going back to get more needles stuck into me? Hells yes!

21st century wireless gal

2008-03-23T22:57:00.008-06:00

Now where was I? Ah, yes, I left off at the part of the story where my jaw was wired shut. That kinda sucked, didn't it? Don't worry, sweet Internets. The wired Savia only lasted two weeks. I'm one of the lucky ones - some jaw surgery patients are wired for six weeks. I can't even imagine.

When I left the hospital, the nurse gave me wire cutters and told me I had to carry them with me AT ALL TIMES. Sorry for the use of the capital letters there, but they were very serious about this point. I even had to sign a document promising that I would carry them AT ALL TIMES.

I knew they weren't to be used if you were throwing up. (Apparently, you're supposed to use your fingers to open up your lips, bend over, and let the vomit run out from between your teeth. Mmmmmm. Fun.) I assumed their only use would be if your airway were obstructed or you weren't breathing and someone needed to perform CPR.

Savia: So, how do you use these?
Nurse: I don't know.
Savia: I should know how to use them if I have to carry them at all times, don't you think?
Nurse: I'll ask and find out.

I think I was the first person to ask this question. That's kind of disturbing, when you think about it. How many jaw surgery patients are carrying these things around with no real idea of what to do with them?

Nurse: You just give them to the paramedics if something happens to you.
Savia: Uh...okay.
Nurse: We've never known of anyone who's actually had to use them before.
Savia: But what if I need to?
Nurse: Just get in there and start cutting everything.
Savia: Alrighty then.

The infamous wire cutters that no one uses.

As you can imagine, I was not going to miss carrying those things around in my purse. Their very existence reminded me that I was in a precarious position, choking wise. Something I'd rather not think about when my jaw's wired shut for two weeks.

Other things I was not going to miss: crazy concoctions made in the blender that, more often than not, turned out to be very unappealing; talking through clenched teeth; and finessing one of my pills, which couldn't be crushed up, through the tiny space behind my back teeth so I could swallow it.

But then, the magical day came. The day I got with the 21st century and went wireless (thanks for that turn of phrase, Wench.)

Superstar had gone to plug the meter just before I got called into the office, so I held the camera up as the surgeon cut the wires and took all these pictures myself. My surgeon asked, "You can take those all by yourself?" My response: "Trust me, when you're as narcissistic as I am, you become very good at taking pictures of yourself!"

The first cut is the sweetest.

Get that finger in there. Good times.

He also had to cut the rubber bands that were over the wires.
Those snapped back something fierce.

At least he knows what to do with the wire cutters.

Can you tell I'm having fun here?

It was a very involved process and went on for awhile.

Also, it kinda hurt.

Except delete the word "kinda."

Freeeeeeeedoooooooommmmmmmmm!!!!

It was a very weird feeling to have those wires off for the first time. It was actually uncomfortable. My jaw was sore and I could barely open my mouth. If you look at my mouth in the above picture, that was literally as far as I could open it after being unwired. It felt really unstable. At that moment, I would have been quite happy had he said he was putting the wires back on.

But then, he gave me a toothbrush and some paste and told me to brush.

And the heavens opened and there was much rejoicing. Because let me tell you - not being able to brush the backs of your teeth for two weeks straight = downright disgusting. My tongue had been brushing up against a layer of fuzz for a week at least, so brushing was a higher priority than being able to eat.

My teeth just after unwiring and before brushing.
Pretty gross, hey?

I brushed for about 20 minutes to get all the stains off. At first, I couldn't even fit the toothbrush into my mouth to get at the backs of the teeth. But I was determined to get that gunk off, so I held my jaw and pressed the bristles against my lower teeth until some of them went on the other side. It was the best feeling in the word. I was so relieved once I was done.

It was then that I realized - I can talk! (So, I babbled the surgeon's head off.) And then it dawned on me - hey, I can eat! (So, I stopped talking and got the hell out of the office so we could go for lunch.)

Now we know Savia's hierarchy of needs: Brushing, Talking, Eating.

Superstar and I grabbed Diva and went to my favourite Mexican restaurant in Cosmopolos to eat My First Meal As Someone Who Can Open Her Mouth. I was still not allowed to chew anything, so I had to get something soft and mushy. I ordered the mexi dip, which is refried beans, fresh salsa and cheese baked in a tortilla shell. And I ate that mo-fo with a spoon and a side of guacamole and sour cream.

And it was sublime.

Ravenous reading

2008-03-18T23:24:00.002-06:00

Theresa over at My Fairbanks Life has passed this meme along. I think it's her secret plan to keep interviewing me, this time about books. Ah, who am I to complain? I love talking about myself, in all its forms!

1) What book are you reading right now?
Book? Singular? Mah ha ha. Sorry, but that's unpossible. There is a stack of books on my nightstand because, apparently, I have ADD.

No, that's not true. Okay, it's kind of true. But the reason for the stack is that some of the books are very intense and I can't always deal with reading them. So, I alternate, depending on my state of mind/psyche at the time. So, on any given day, I could be reading:

Cruddy by Lynda Barry. This was lent to me by Schmutzie and Palinode. It's about a girl who writes about her traumatic childhood with humour and humanity. I'm about a quarter of the way through and I'm enjoying it so far. It has pictures. This is my "light read" at the moment.
On Beauty by Zadie Smith. I loved White Teeth, her first novel (a paper I wrote on it got me invited to an international conference, so how could I not love it?) and I also loved Howard's End, a book that heavily influences On Beauty. I'm only a sixth of the way through this one, but, as always, I love Smith's style and sense of humour. This is my "intellectual fun read."
Healing Sex: A Mind-Body Approach to Healing Sexual Trauma by Staci Haines. I first read about this book on Feministing where they published an interview with the author. The book is aimed at women who are survivors of childhood sexual abuse. The focus is on healing, both physically and psychologically, the disconnect and pain that negatively affects our sex lives into adulthood. I'm about halfway through, and it's already been helpful for me to read the stories and experiences of other women who have lived through this. It's nice to know I'm not alone in the fact that the sexual abuse continues to affect me now, 28 years later. This is a book I cannot pick up every night, for obvious reasons. Heavy shit.
The Feeling Good Handbook by David D. Burns. This is a workbook that teaches people to use cognitive behavioural therapy on themselves to help take control of depression and anxiety and have healthier relationships with others. I'm about halfway through it, but again, it's heavy stuff. You have to do some digging and face things about yourself that may be difficult to deal with, and also concentrate on changing some of the thoughts and actions that seem automatic to you. It's hard work. I haven't picked it up in months, but it remains on my nightstand, just in case the spirit moves me.

Other books on the nightstand that I have yet to crack open:

Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay (A get well gift from Schmutzie and Palinode)
Insect Lives: Stories of Mystery and Romance from a Hidden World by Erich Hoyt and Ted Schultz (Potential thesis research)
Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia by Elizabeth Gilbert (I'm told it's a good read. She had me at Italy.)
A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr. (A gift from Orpheus, who knows of my love for dystopian literature.)
Happier: Learn the Secrets to Daily Joy and Lasting Fulfillment by Tal Ben-Shahar. (My brother lent it to me. It's a book on positive psychology. I'm all over that.)
The Gathering by Anne Enright (A Christmas gift from Superstar's dad.)

2) What was the last book you read on a plane?
I Am America (And So Can You!) by Stephen Colbert, on the way home from Superstar's mother's funeral.

3) What was the last book you read on a roadtrip?
Road trips are for singing and dancing in the car, not for reading. Also, I'm a princess. I don't do road trips if there's a plane anywhere nearby.

4) What is the most unusual place you found yourself reading?
I was once so enthralled with a book that I read it while driving my car, book on the steering wheel in front of me. Kids, please do not try this at home.

5) What books would you take to keep you occupied on a two week vacation to the beach?
Remember that stack of unread and half-read books on my nightstand? Those.

6) Other bloggers I'd like some book recommendations from (i.e. pay the meme forward):

A little self-wanking never hurt anyone

2008-03-15T10:52:00.003-06:00

Both Schmutzie and Paige Stanton tagged me for this meme, which I think is pretty damn cool. Makes me feel loved. And also makes me go through my archives and say, "Huh? I wrote that, hey?"

So, here goes:

The meme's rules:

1. Go through your archives and link to five of your favourite posts that you have written.

Link one must be a post about family.
Link two must be a post about friends.
Link three must be a post about yourself.
Link four must be a post about something you love.
Link five can be a post about anything you choose.

2. Tag five other people to do this meme. Two of them must be people you already know so that you can get to know each other better.

Postie post post...

Family: Ghosts of Christmases Past
Friends: Ode to Schmutzie
Moi: Body Image
Love: Rocking the Rock Chick
Wild Card: Incestuous Italian Cousin Lesbian Porn

Taggie tag tag...

Theresa from My Fairbanks Life
Nat from ...and sometimes why
Palinode from In Palinode's Palace
Bipolar Lawyer Cook
Deb from Deb on the Rocks

X marks the jaw

2008-03-13T19:27:00.000-06:00

I'm still working on all of my post-jaw surgery entries, but I thought meanwhile, you'd be interested to see the inside of my face once again. Because who doesn't want to see that?

So, here are some after and before X-rays for your viewing pleasure.

The first one is the after-surgery X-ray.
You can't see a huge difference in the bite from pre- to post-surgery in this shot, but you will notice the surgical hooks between each of my braces in the post-surgery shot as well as the three screws the surgeon put in either side of my jaw.

It's still hard for me to believe that I have screws in my face.

I'm permanently screwed.

Hah.

Moving on...

Again, post-surgery is up first. You can see the screws in my jaw here as well. You'll also notice that my teeth fit together better than before, and if you look very closely from one to the other, there has been a slight shift in my chin.

My profile is a bit stronger and my chin is a bit further out.

It's subtle. The surgeon only moved my lower jaw forward 4 mm, but every day as the swelling goes down, I notice more changes. It's kind of neat, really. How often can you see your face transform before your very eyes?

32 Reasons

2008-03-08T06:35:00.033-06:00

It's Superstar's 32nd birthday on Monday (You hear that, baby? 32. The same age as me. I'm your "geriatric lover", my ass!) The date snuck up on me, because I have been so preoccupied with the whole broken jaw dealie.

I mean, I've had the presents tucked away for awhile now, I'm arranging a birthday supper with Schmutzie and Palinode and I am going to make Bipolar Lawyer Cook's amazing chocolate truffles for his family's celebration tomorrow night. (Shhh. Don't tell!) But I wanted to do more than that. I wanted to do something really special. Something that would let him know just how much he means to me.

So, I wrote this list.

32 Reasons Why I Heart Superstar

While I'm downstairs getting ready for the night, he lies on my side of the bed so that it will be nice and warm when I crawl in.

He is so sweet to my dog and calls her his "little love rat" in a ridiculous voice every time he sees her. She loves him. Come to think of it, all animals do.
When we go into stores, he chats and jokes around with the clerks, and when we leave restaurants, he says, "Thanks for the hospitality!" to the servers on our way out.

He learned to knit so he could make me a Christmas stocking. He wasn't able to complete it this year, but the part he did finish was very well done.
He has the softest, sweetest lips. And he knows how to use them.
He is a music junkie and can't go into a music store without spending $100 on CDs. He has more than 700 in his collection. He has introduced me to all kinds of artists I would never have known otherwise. I can't wait to go to concerts with him.
He is the most open-minded and non-judgemental person I've met. He accepts and loves me for who I am, neuroses and all. I never have to pretend with him. He even continues to hang out with me after I do things like this in public:

Those are Pop Rocks on my tongue, in case anyone is wondering.
Also, that's a wig. I'd never have bangs that short, FYI.
I may be shameless, but I still have standards.
He loves back scratches just as much as blow jobs. In fact, slightly more.
When I'm drifting off to sleep he'll say, "You know what?" I'll respond, "What?" Then he'll say, "I love you, you know." Last night, while he was drifting off to sleep, I said, "You know what?" "What?" he responded. "I love you exactly for who you are," I said. "Really?" he said, "Because I love you for who I want you to be." God, he makes me laugh so hard.
He is over-the-top, fearless, shameless, and will do anything for a laugh. At the end of his niece's elementary school Christmas concert, he jumped out of his seat and started shouting (and I mean shouting) "Bravo! Bravo! Come on people, let's give them a standing ovation!!" He was the only one standing and shouting in the school gym at 1:30 in the afternoon. After awhile, though, a lady across the aisle stood up to join in his ovation. I tried to pretend I didn't know him but secretly admired his enthusiasm.
He moved from what is probably the most beautiful place in Canada to cold, windy Saskatchewan so we could finally be together.
He is everyone's favourite uncle and is wonderful with kids. He is one of those people who never lost their inner child. He'll make an incredible dad someday. He makes my uterus tick.
He is the definition of a Renaissance Man. I don't think there's anything he can't do.
When my jaw was wired shut, he would show up on my doorstep with chai lattes, hot chocolate and lots of big, warm hugs. I love the way I fit into his arms.
No matter what he tries to sing, it always comes out sounding like a lounge song.
He is this walking contradiction. A big, burly 6'4" man who is also sweet and sensitive. Manly and childlike. Strong and artsy. Intense and irreverent. He's an outdoorsy "society is the devil" kind of hippie who is also hooked on Starbucks...wait for it...Grande Non-Fat No Whip Half-Sweet White Mochas. It makes me giggle each time he orders it. And roll my eyes when I he sends me on a coffee run and I have to order it on his behalf.
The first phone message he ever left me made me cry because it was so sweet and sincere.
He has no ass. It's kind of cute, really.
He is very close with his family, who are some of the most kind, interesting, loving, wonderful people I have ever met.
He always obliges when I ask him for a massage or back rub.
He's a great sport. He let me give him a facial even though I suck at it.
When he goes to the store and is given change, he tosses his pennies on the ground at random intervals as he walks down the street. "I'm giving other people good luck!" he says.
I asked him to eat a bug once and he actually did. I was thrilled. Then he complained about the sour cream and onion seasoning on the bug. He thought it was disgusting. But the bug itself, apparently, was fine.
He has an impeccable memory and never has to write anything down. He is also very observant, noticing the little details I always miss.
He actively looks for the beauty in the world around him.
He looks like a different person in every picture he's in. Sometimes, it's hard for me to remember what he looks like. Then, when I see him again, my legs turn to jelly.
Best. Sex. Ever.
After any meal, no matter where we are, he gets up, clears the table, and does all the dishes, before anyone asks for help. The woman running the bed and breakfast we stayed at on our second date had no idea what to do with him.
He has sexy legs.

I never thought I would be able to say that a penis is beautiful. But his is. [Unfortunately, photo unavailable.]

Every day with him is an adventure. It never gets dull, because he's constantly surprising me and challenging me to grow as a person.

I've never met anyone like him before, and I don't think I ever will again. I have never laughed or loved so hard. I feel honoured to have him in my life.

It was hard to whittle this list down to a mere 32 reasons why I adore this man. There are so many more, from the little daily things that make me beam to the big things that make him a person of integrity, unconditional love and all around sexy hotness.

Happy Birthday, Superstar. I hope our next year together will be even more amazing than the last.

I love you.

Through the wire

2008-03-03T22:11:00.002-06:00

Kanye West recorded the song "Through the Wire" with his jaw wired shut. Good for him. As for me, I was just happy to get some tidbits of food through that wire. Rapping was the last thing on my mind.

I know I'm Little Savia Sunshine about my jaw surgery and all, but I won't lie: eating with your jaw wired shut sucks. And I use that term figuratively, not literally, because I was so swollen I couldn't even suck anything through a straw.

When I was in the hospital, I ate with the aid of this little prop:

Surprisingly, this device was not used to impregnate anyone.
Even though the antibiotics had rendered my birth control pills impotent.

That syringe was my lifeline. I would suck the liquid/mush through the tube, and then squirt it into the side of my mouth. In the hospital, they fed me things like meal replacement drinks, juice, pudding, cream of wheat, soup, etc. And then I had friends like Diva, who smuggled in Booster Juice and watched me suck it through the syringe, remarking, "Awwww....you look like a gerbil."

Yeah, I was so ditching the syringe once I got home.

The drive home from The Big City took more than two hours. Because a liquid diet doesn't stay with you long, I was absolutely ravenous by the time we pulled up to my place. I dreaded having to make some food. I was tired and achy and hungry and I just wanted something easy.

Then, I opened my screen door, and nestled inside was a Booster Juice with a nice little card from my friend The Bee. It was as though the heavens opened up and a choir of angels was singing just for me.

Unfortunately, after that point, eating got a lot more challenging.

I began with the best of intentions: my freezer full of organic, vegan soups prepared before the surgery. I thought these would be what I'd be eating the entire time my jaw was wired shut, but it didn't work that way at all. I tried to eat them through my Zip-n-Squeeze bags, but the soups were too thick. I thinned them down with more broth, but they still got stuck in my wires. I realized that I would have to strain them to be able to eat them, but just thinking about straining all of that great fibre out of the soups seemed...wrong. I just couldn't bring myself to do it; it stressed me out. So, I shelved the soups until my jaw was unwired and I could appreciate them in all their glory.

My next attempt at "healthy food" was also a dismal failure. At the hospital, the dietitian had said something about blending oatmeal. She said to put it in the blender before mixing the water in, but I can't seem to follow instructions for some reason. Instead, I made the oatmeal and then put it through the blender with some milk and brown sugar and plopped it into a Zip-n-Squeeze bag. Bad idea. The blended oatmeal concoction turned into a gluey mess that barely squeezed through the tube. And it was much less appetizing than it sounds, trust me.

At this point, I turned to foods I knew I could get through the wires: Boost (with extra protein), yoghurt, pudding, hot chocolate, chai lattes, applesauce, juice, and commercial soups like cream of tomato and cream of mushroom, all supplemented with skim milk powder for extra protein.

Anytime I would deviate from the above list, my wires would get clogged with food and I'd be in the bathroom with my new boyfriend, Larry the WaterPik (I had moved far beyond George by this point.)

Even with the "easy to eat foods", it took me about half-an-hour to eat anything. A cup of pudding. 30 minutes. A bowl of soup. 30 minutes. And in that time, about half of the food would end up on me. My lower lip and chin were numb from the surgery, so I wasn't able to feel where the spoon was going, or that there was food all over my face. Superstar got no end of amusement from this. Two-year-olds eat with far more panache than I did. In two weeks, I did more laundry than I had in the past three months.

Less than a week after the surgery, Superstar and I went to one of those sub sandwich places that also serves soup. I ordered the broccoli cheese soup. It seemed that it would work and I was looking forward to eating out like a normal person again.

The soup was quite chunky, so I picked out the bigger pieces with a fork and tried to eat around the rest of the vegetable pieces, slurping the creamy part off a spoon with my upper lip. After awhile, my wires got clogged (as usual) and I had to go to the restroom to brush some of it out.

When I came back, I decided to lift the bowl up closer to my mouth. Instead of lifting it straight up, I spilled it all the way down the front of my sweater. Fortunately, I jumped a bit, so it didn't end up in my lap, but rather all over the booth I was sitting in. Always a class act, that Savia. I was so frustrated, I almost burst into tears.

This was not going well at all. In my first week wired shut, I lost five pounds. Not that I'm complaining about that, but I knew that I needed to get my protein and calories in for my body to heal.

One day, I lost it and scooped peanut butter out of the jar and rubbed it against my wires, trying to suck it through my teeth. It kinda worked. But not really.

Another day, I melted down a chocolate bar and slurped it from a spoon.

I finally got so frustrated about getting food in me that I went to the grocery store and bought:

Whole milk
Cheese cake mix
Chocolate whipped cream

The second week, I don't think I lost any weight at all. Particularly once I rediscovered root beer floats made with Häagen-Dazs ice cream. Mmmmmm.

I think my naturopath had a mild aneurysm when I told her what I'd been eating for those weird wired weeks.

Ah, well. I survived, didn't I?

The one where Savia actually hands the spotlight over to someone else

2008-03-02T21:27:00.004-06:00

Remember in this post where I was interviewed by Theresa from My Fairbanks Life for Neil's Great Interview Experiment and I mentioned that I was actually supposed to be the one interviewing her?

Well, the interview where I get to ask all the questions has now been posted over here at her blog.* Check it out. You won't be disappointed.

*Warning: reading this interview will make you love Theresa and compel you to add her blog to your already-packed-full blogroll, so proceed at your own risk.