Editor-in-Chief
Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.org
“Lock jaw.”
I was branded with that dreadful nickname in high school. To my dismay, it caught on like wildfire and it stuck.
It didn’t even make any sense since it literally means what it says: a locked jaw - being physically unable to open your jaw. On the contrary: I’ve been called a loudmouth and told
I don’t know when to shut up.
The reason people teased me was that my lower jaw—and teeth—noticeably protruded out further than the upper. A birth defect I had absolutely no control over.
Girls were ferociously cruel about it.
A lot of them would ask if I had been punched in the face. No matter what my rebuttal, their grand solution was to “pop” my jaw “back into place.”
I would ask why they hated me so much. Surely I must have done something wrong to incur their wrath. The answer was always the same: “I just don’t like you.” Once, a girl even wrote “you’re ugly” in every page of my notebook when I wasn’t looking.
So much for sugar and spice and everything nice.
Nothing ever escalated in physical violence, but it was always a possibility. I had seen plenty of other girls get into nasty, ruthless fights—both on and off school property. One day, as students made their way to the buses, I watched as my main antagonizer seized another girl by the arm, flipped her into the air and slammed her backside into the pavement.
It all happened in less than two seconds. The only thought going through my mind was, “That could’ve been me. What if that had been me?”
It was a real-life production of “Mean Girls,” except more brutal and heartless. I lived in a near-constant state of fear.
Some of my tormentors went so far as to approach me in public and threaten to beat me up, right then and there. I couldn’t ignore someone who was in my face, hoping they would go away. I didn’t want to ignite any violence, but I also didn’t want to seem weak.
So I did the only thing I could think of: I reasoned with them. I debated that I had done nothing to offend or wrong them in any way; that there was absolutely no reason for us to fight.
It worked every time.
But I still dreaded going to school, a place I should have felt safe. School officials did nothing to alleviate the situation and I knew that I might not be able to talk myself out of every confrontation. Walking around town with my friends gave me anxiety—adding to the stress my mind and body were already under.
From a stranger’s perspective, the only things my jaw affected were my confidence and self-esteem. Little did they know that was the very least of my problems.
The real trouble began in sixth grade. I felt nauseated almost every day, a pattern that continued well into high school. I’d get acid reflux and heartburn no matter what I did. By the age of 20 I had a stomach ulcer, which is most common among senior citizens.
I couldn’t do anything that involved running because it made me feel sick and I had trouble breathing. My grades in gym class slipped and I stopped trying. I became a regular in the nurse’s office.
At first nobody believed me, not even my own mother. Everyone thought I was faking, because let’s face it, that’s what kids do. My underbite was normal up until middle school, when the misalignment of my jaw visually presented itself and then grew more pronounced.
But it wasn’t until I started high school that I was officially diagnosed with mandibular prognathism, which simply means that the lower jaw projects out farther than the upper. My orthodontist explained that since the mouth is the beginning of the entire digestive system, having a severe prognathism—like I did—ultimately led to medical and dental problems.
At just 14 years old, I decided that something drastic had to be done. That’s when I discovered orthognathic surgery, better known as corrective jaw surgery.
I wanted the surgery. But ultimately I needed it.
Preparation for the surgery was much longer than I had anticipated and my patience wore thin.
I wore braces for over four years and had all of my wisdom teeth extracted at once. The latter resulted in a rare complication: an abscess—a type of infection—developed in my throat, which almost completely closed up. I made it to the hospital just in time.
I figured if I could survive that, I could handle the hurdles that lay ahead of me. How wrong and naïve I was.
I underwent corrective jaw surgery in February 2008, and recovery turned out to be a more grueling process than I had imagined. I was the picture of misery. My jaw was wired shut for five weeks. I couldn’t talk or eat. Breathing and sleeping were practically impossible tasks.
I felt as if I had been through hell and back enough times to qualify for a frequent visitor pass. But in the end, every horrifying second was worth it.
I was certain that once I had the surgery, my “lock jaw” would be old news and the bullying would stop.
Once again, I was proven wrong.
Rumors that I had facial cosmetic surgery began circulating. I was appalled that anybody would say something so cruel and ignorant without any facts or proof.
I can’t lie: the surgery did improve my looks, but that was just icing on the cake. The most significant benefits I experienced were medical—not aesthetic.
The American Association of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgeries’ website states that “While the patient’s appearance may be dramatically enhanced as a result of their surgery, orthognathic surgery is performed to correct functional problems.”
I’m living proof of this.
I can properly chew and swallow my food now, a simple feat that so many people take for granted. I’m finally able to eat food I’d been physically unable to before, like steak. My breathing has vastly improved and I run regularly for exercise—without getting sick.
I truly believe that my experiences have made me stronger and more open-minded, and I am grateful for that.
Not everything is at it appears, but most of us rely on sight as our main perception of the world around us. We can help it, though, if we try. A conscious effort has to be made to not judge a book by its cover, because everyone has a story worth telling.
Next time you see someone and find yourself making assumptions about them, or tearing them down in your mind, stop. Take a few seconds to think of how you’d feel if you were in their shoes. Teasing someone about their appearance and calling them names may seem innocent, normal and even amusing at times, but when you’re on the receiving end of it the fun stops.
It’s our differences as human beings that make life interesting. No two people in this world are exactly the same. Shouldn’t we celebrate that?
No comments:
Post a Comment