if only we were traveling

If only we were traveling, ETD would stand for Estimated Time of Departure. We'd impatiently bide our time at the station or terminal, then excitedly haul our bags aboard the train or ship set to carry us to some exotic or quaint or fascinating destination. We would, of course, have a grinning pup at our sides, a German shepherd-beagle thrilled to embark on a new adventure, though I expect she'd be a little nervous too when confronted with a new mode of transportation. It took Maisie years, after all, to accept the motion, the sounds, the various bumps and vibrations of riding in a car.

But we are home, as we have been all summer, dreaming of one-day expeditions that, for now, must remain on hold.

The ETD--Eustachian tube dysfunction--will not be quick to clear. The all-natural, plant-based household spray that caused it has left chemical burns in my nasal passage, Eustachian tube, and middle ear. Though we only used it lightly the one time, two months passed before we were able to thoroughly scrub our home's air, two months during which I was continually exposed to off-gassing molecules. As a result, the inflammation has become so extreme, it recently triggered temporomandibular disorder affecting the entire left side of my jaw, while the two conditions combined have inflamed the trigeminal nerve, causing it to frequently misfire, sending shockwaves of agonizing pain through my ear, jaw, sinuses, eye, temple, and the top of my head. It also triggers nearly constant migraines, yet even the migraines are nothing compared to the debilitating intensity of the nerve pain. That entire side of my head is now so hypersensitive and reactive, a faint smell, a loud noise, even a featherlight breeze against my skin will provoke another attack. I don't chronicle any of this to complain, though I do have some choice words for the company that manufactured this "perfectly safe" product. I only wished to provide an update, as our replies to your queries (thank you for your kindness) have been slow indeed. Mine, for obvious reasons, Dennie's because I need more help managing the pain than I care to admit, and what an angel I've had at my side.

Not only did I believe I'd see gradual improvement by now--rather than symptoms worsening daily--I presumed this healing period would provide me more time than ever for letter writing and other passive tasks, but that's where things get tricky. The ETD is horrible enough on its own, but the TMJ and trigeminal nerve pain is so acute, I can no longer speak, chew, smile, laugh, yawn, or move my jaw in any way without setting off new waves of torture through my head. It doesn't seem like that should impair my ability to type, yet it does. This short blog post will take me all day to complete as I will have to stop frequently for warm compresses and the kind of internal pep talk that will keep me going for another challenging, yet unproductive, day after another. Painkillers and anticonvulsants are commonly prescribed for these conditions, but my system has never handled medications well (that being the king of understatements), so I have no choice but to endure without these medical palliatives. When the trigeminal nerves misfire, it's kind of like undergoing an operation prior to the advent of anesthetics. At that time, a patient might bite down on a stick to temper the suffering, only, with the TMD, biting down on a stick or anything else isn't an option.

I am getting better at using diaphragmatic breathing to regulate the pain. I sip warm broth or use warm compresses during the worst nerve flare-ups. I do what I can around the house, but what I can is very limited, and such activity is always short-lived. Soon after I begin, I once again have to sit down, breathe, and rectify the disobedient placement of my jaw.

There's something called resting mouth position where the jaw is most relaxed and therefore least likely to trigger TMJ or trigeminal nerve pain--teeth slightly apart, tongue resting against the upper row. Sounds easy enough, right? If anyone ever tried to stump your coordination with a request that you pat your head and rub your belly at the same time, they should have simply challenged you to maintain resting mouth position at all times. Pay attention to how much your jaw shifts, clenches, moves throughout everything you do. The changes are significant when exerting or concentrating, but, even while typing these words, I smile or cringe or tweak my expression in some way, I unwittingly mouth the words, or my jaw instinctively starts to jut forward. Holding my jaw in this relaxed position may be the least relaxing thing I've ever done. I wish someone would pay me for it, because the focus it requires has become a full-time job. That may well be the saddest thing I've said all year.

There is life, however, beyond pain management. Over the past week, we've learned some very important lessons. For example, liquid diets are not only challenging to orchestrate, they get old almost as soon as they commence. The satisfaction of chewing food, of feeling the texture of food is one of those things you really take for granted until you can no longer do it. August is the worst possible month to have to forego the salvation of a fan blowing directly at your face. There's also no such thing as a compress that stays warm nearly long enough when you have a large cranial nerve with anger management issues. And, most importantly, you don't ever want any member of our household on your charades team. Maybe I'm terrible at it. Perhaps Dennie is. We might both suffer gesticulative impairment, for all I know, but, unless I have my laptop on hand and can type my thoughts, queries, etc., my attempts to communicate have been wildly misinterpreted most of the time. It'd be downright hilarious...if only I could laugh. Correction: if only I could laugh without antagonizing a nerve that is, coincidentally, flaunting a whole lot of nerve. Here at the Fitzgerald residence, we laugh daily and often. Having to suppress that is a special kind of torment, right up there with keeping my jaw perpetually relaxed.

Whoever said laughter is the best medicine clearly had never experienced trigeminal nerve irritation.

A surprise t-shirt for Dennie from one of our favorite shows--just a little thank-you gift for being so attentive, even through some very long, taxing, and sleepless nights.

If only we were traveling, it would mean something more, something full of anticipation and promise, but still I hold out hope for the ETD's ETD--Estimated Time of Departure. (And it better take its TMD and trigeminal pals with it.) Because of the severity of the chemical burns and the inflammation now dominating that entire side of my head, two to three months more to heal is the current expectation, with a chance of noticeable improvement in a few more weeks.

Today, I thought I was writing a short and simple update. Turns out, it was more like diaphragmatic breathing for the soul: inhale the realities of this cruel combination of conditions, exhale the silence, the frustration, the agony. Maybe, in this period of necessary quietude, what I really needed was to pour it all out. Thank you for listening. As it so often happens in life, I've found myself on an unscheduled journey. The tickets, it would seem, are nonrefundable, yet this tale isn't solely one of misfortune. I have excellent fortune in the form of two dear companions willing to ride out this voyage with me to the other side of the map.  Or maybe Stars Hollow. I'll send you a postcard when we get there. It'll bear no message, just a giant smiley face, gabbing, laughing, and quite possibly pleading for a yummy, crunchy snack.