I think to me it’ll always feel like yesterday, but more than two years have passed since my husband’s near-fatal accident. There is not enough space on the internet for me to detail how distinctly un-fun and completely dispiriting I find working with the insurance carrier. “Working” is not the verb that captures our relationship, in fact it’s the diametric opposite. But whatever. You know what I mean.
Eleven months have elapsed since his facial reconstruction surgery, and after receiving non-answer upon non-answer upon straight-up ignore in response to our questions about continued treatment, finally and IN WRITING we received confirmation that he can receive Botox treatment to address the facial asymmetry resulting from the paralysis. Synkinesis is the word we were given to describe the faulty healing that occurred in his face. Just another in a long list of vocabulary words I never wanted to have to learn. . .
Synkinesis is involuntary facial movement that occurs with the voluntary movement of a different facial muscle group. As an example, but not precisely indicative of his particular mis-healing, synkinesis occurs when one smiles, and their eye crunches up or when one closes their eyes and their nose twitches. Get it? Remarkably, his facial nerves knitted new pathways after having been smashed and severed on the right side of his face, but they didn’t retrace the entirely correct pathway. It appears strange on the screen, “faulty healing,” but that is an accurate representation. His nerves regenerated and made connections, but the nerves didn’t all connect to the spots nature had originally intended.
(I believe) he’d waffled on having the Botox injections done as a direct result of those remotely-humanoid-appearing women of a certain age over-lifted and duckbill-plumped Real Housewives types. Plus, he’s a dude who worked in the trades. So, between indecision and insurance, honestly? It slipped my mind until yesterday when he mentioned today’s appointment.
“Hope your appointment goes smoothly,” I called to my husband as he scurried off to work this morning. I paused for the briefest of moments, realizing my ridiculous choice of words. I’m mild-to-moderately embarrassed to admit that I cackled, not real quietly (also, I hadn’t gotten dressed yet and may or may not have even brushed my teeth by then. All this is to explain that I was still a wee bit tired and easily amused. Ah, what an accidental comic I am!).
“Smoothly. Get it? Smooth?? Botox will make your face smooth again. Byeeeeeeeeeee.” It’s a wonder the man didn’t sprint right out of our bedroom. I mean, who would blame him??