Some day in mid November, my face suddenly stopped working.
I hadn't gotten enough sleep on that day and I was both mentally and physically exhausted. The semester was hectic and I was drowning. I was being suffocated with the amount of work and I just couldn't keep up. I was tired, perhaps a little too tired on that day but still decided that I needed to destress and hit the gym. I worked out with the little stamina I had in me. I was feeling unusually dizzy that day, so I decided to grab orange juice from the closet that I kept my things in to refuel and get back to working out. Little did I know that walk from the treadmill to the closet would change my life.
I practically limped my way to the changing room and the AC was oddly cold. I grabbed my orange juice, drank and decided that it would be best for me to go home and rest. I put on my clothes, said goodbye to the coaches and headed to my car. Once I got in, my phone rang and it was a close friend of mine. I started complaining, as usual, about how tired I feel and how crappy my day was. During the conversation, I felt something very strange happening to my left eye. I immediately thought it was a headache and that my body desperately needed a good 3-4 hours "nap". I got home, took a shower, wore my favorite pyjama and jumped in my bed. I closed my eyes, or tried to... I thought to myself that whatever this type of headache was, it was irritating me beyond belief and I just wanted to be knocked out as soon as possible. I finally was able to push my stress and anxiety away and fell into a deep slumber.
My nap took longer than 3 hours, but it was very much needed. "God. I'm starving!", I thought to myself. I stood in front of the mirror while brushing my teeth and my face looked...funny. Huh. My left eye can't blink properly. Meh. Whatever. I need food in my system. Right before I go on a hunt for food to the kitchen, my little sister comes to me with her jolly spirit and humour as usual. I can't remember what she said to me exactly, but it was really funny! So then, naturally, I laughed as loud as I could. God knows I needed it. She looked at me and giggled. I didn't understand why she was giggling, so I asked "What's funny?" Her giggle turned into hysterical laughter and said to me "Your mouth isn't moving. Haha!" I felt it too. I knew that I couldn't smile and was unable to blink. What kind of migraine is this?
I stepped into my mother's room and asked her to examine me like I always do when I felt or noticed that there is something out of the natural order. I sat next to her on the couch and said "Mom, look at my smile. It's not moving!" She replied to me, assuring me, that there was nothing wrong. My face is probably just numb from the long nap I took and that it will come back to normal. I wondered just how long would it take. My father then joined us in the room and noticed what I noticed. His face grew worried and I could see the doubtful unease behind his eyes. He knew what was wrong with me, and so did I. I tried to avoid it. Prayed to God that it wouldn't be that thing. Because that thing had also happened to his mother, my grandmother.
It was 12AM and I needed a confirmation from a doctor that I was going to be okay. My sister rushed me to a governmental hospital and I felt numb throughout the entire car ride. We reached our destination in no time. I remember the weather being windy, so I had to cover my face partially for protection and partially of shame. I waited for my turn anxiously, thinking that this was definitely the cherry on top of my very unpleasant year. My turn to see the doctor finally came and he welcomed me nicely enough. I couldn't blame him, I would be cranky too at 12AM. He asked me to tell him my symptoms; the words were rushing out of my mouth at speed that I, myself, was not able to fathom. The doctor then, sensing my rising panic attack, calmed me down and said that my face is only infected by some virus and with a couple of physiotherapy sessions would eventually go back to normal. I ask of the name of this thing that hit me and it was, as I feared, what hit my grandmother as well. Bell's Palsy.
Denial
My face was paralysed and was going to stay paralysed for a while. I rejected the idea of this virus that was roaming carelessly in the air and that I, somehow, caught it. Of all people, it chose me. It was difficult for me to process what was happening, the bizarre sensation of being unable to perform the simplest things that the human body was supposed to do. I couldn't move my face muscles, I couldn't eat, I couldn't smile and I couldn't close my eye to sleep. It felt like I was in a lucid dream, except it wasn't a dream but a nightmare and I was wide awake. As a matter of fact, sleep was my only escape. Then I would wake up again and remember that I look as tired and sad as I felt on the inside.
Anger
I don't think I ever was this angry my entire life. I was angry at God. I was angry at myself. I was angry at the doctor who confirmed that it was Bell's palsy. I was angry at my family. I was angry at the wind for carrying that virus. I was angry at time. I was bitter and I hated everything, including myself. I became angrier with each question asked by people about why I looked so tired. "I'm not tired, it's just my face. I can't move it", I would reply every time till it was engraved in my memory. Why me? Why now?
Bargaining
It was 12AM and I needed a confirmation from a doctor that I was going to be okay. My sister rushed me to a governmental hospital and I felt numb throughout the entire car ride. We reached our destination in no time. I remember the weather being windy, so I had to cover my face partially for protection and partially of shame. I waited for my turn anxiously, thinking that this was definitely the cherry on top of my very unpleasant year. My turn to see the doctor finally came and he welcomed me nicely enough. I couldn't blame him, I would be cranky too at 12AM. He asked me to tell him my symptoms; the words were rushing out of my mouth at speed that I, myself, was not able to fathom. The doctor then, sensing my rising panic attack, calmed me down and said that my face is only infected by some virus and with a couple of physiotherapy sessions would eventually go back to normal. I ask of the name of this thing that hit me and it was, as I feared, what hit my grandmother as well. Bell's Palsy.
Denial
My face was paralysed and was going to stay paralysed for a while. I rejected the idea of this virus that was roaming carelessly in the air and that I, somehow, caught it. Of all people, it chose me. It was difficult for me to process what was happening, the bizarre sensation of being unable to perform the simplest things that the human body was supposed to do. I couldn't move my face muscles, I couldn't eat, I couldn't smile and I couldn't close my eye to sleep. It felt like I was in a lucid dream, except it wasn't a dream but a nightmare and I was wide awake. As a matter of fact, sleep was my only escape. Then I would wake up again and remember that I look as tired and sad as I felt on the inside.
Anger
I don't think I ever was this angry my entire life. I was angry at God. I was angry at myself. I was angry at the doctor who confirmed that it was Bell's palsy. I was angry at my family. I was angry at the wind for carrying that virus. I was angry at time. I was bitter and I hated everything, including myself. I became angrier with each question asked by people about why I looked so tired. "I'm not tired, it's just my face. I can't move it", I would reply every time till it was engraved in my memory. Why me? Why now?
Bargaining
I knew deep down that my anger towards the whole situation had to stop before it was too late. I had to take control. I did as I was told by the doctor and took physiotherapy sessions. My first session was awkward, but my physiotherapist was very kind and comforting. She had a smile on her face that put me in ease. For two weeks, I had to do face exercises, warm the infected area and massage it regularly. Then, I would be on electrotherapy to stimulate my facial muscles from within so it would fasten my healing process. The sessions weren't so bad, except for the fact they were at 8AM which bugged me quite a lot. Other than that, they were kind of cool. I had time to read my books, lay down and relax. Yet, I still felt vulnerable and weak. It still wasn't right...but at least I was doing something about it.
Depression
"I'm ugly. I can't be seen like this. I feel awful. I'm never going to be healed."
The second time I was on the electronic machine thingie, you know the one that's supposed to speed things up a bit, my mouth tasted like... metal. Then it felt hot, so I called my physiotherapist and told her that something was not right. She then realised, after two fucking weeks, that I had braces on. "I'm sorry, my dear. I cannot continue with the therapy, but don't you worry! You can heal just as well with only face exercises!" I knew what that meant. It was going to take longer than I hoped.
I hated going to classes and I hated being around people. Though the weather was spectacular at the time, almost magical even, but I was so damn afraid of the wind. I didn't want the other part of my face to stop working too. The worst part was, my finals were around the corner and I was nowhere near ready. I was a complete mess and an emotional wreck. I felt self-conscious in ways I can't begin to describe. Sadness was eating me up and I felt like I couldn't go on with this anymore. I wanted to give up on everything; drop the course, drop my entire life and sleep forever.
Acceptance
It was there, always going to be there, like my shadow. That's what I used to think, until I realised it wouldn't be there if I shined light on it. I felt a glimpse of hope building up from the bottom of my heart, hugging me and giving me the strength I needed to keep going. My friends helped me emotionally a lot through the process, and for that I'll always be thankful for their existence in my life. I had my braces removed and went back to electrotherapy. It buzzed and tickled the inside of my cheek. It felt like I was being stung by a thousand bees all at once. It definitely was not the best feeling in the world, but to me it felt like those thousand bees were working hard to put my face back to its original shape, which made me feel happy or at least happier than before. I felt more peaceful as I noticed the remarkable progress with each session. I came to conclusion that I shouldn't be going against it. Fighting it was much more exhausting than accepting it. Going with the flow eventually helped me in a way heal faster and I did. On the last day of my sessions, I was able to smile and blink and it was the most glorious feeling ever! I was finally in control again of my muscles. I felt complete.
It was there, always going to be there, like my shadow. That's what I used to think, until I realised it wouldn't be there if I shined light on it. I felt a glimpse of hope building up from the bottom of my heart, hugging me and giving me the strength I needed to keep going. My friends helped me emotionally a lot through the process, and for that I'll always be thankful for their existence in my life. I had my braces removed and went back to electrotherapy. It buzzed and tickled the inside of my cheek. It felt like I was being stung by a thousand bees all at once. It definitely was not the best feeling in the world, but to me it felt like those thousand bees were working hard to put my face back to its original shape, which made me feel happy or at least happier than before. I felt more peaceful as I noticed the remarkable progress with each session. I came to conclusion that I shouldn't be going against it. Fighting it was much more exhausting than accepting it. Going with the flow eventually helped me in a way heal faster and I did. On the last day of my sessions, I was able to smile and blink and it was the most glorious feeling ever! I was finally in control again of my muscles. I felt complete.