At left, not moon, nor planet, nor heavenly body, but a medical image reasonably representative of a polyp lodging inside my schnoz.Several such biomasses had been roosting in there with oozy swagger, blocking nose breathing until last Tuesday, when I had them all removed via endoscopic sinus surgery.
Since then I've felt like I got hit by a train. Only today, nearly a week later, the bleeding has stopped and I have been recused from a haze of codeine-based pain pills to feel fortitude enough to report on this delicate adventure.
For days after the procedure, impulse to bleed was at the level of "trigger happy." Even talking beyond a whisper would get bleeding started out both nostrils as well as down the throat. Not since childhood have I been so attuned to blood's clotting nature: In texture as well as timing, it's a wonder to behold.
Reston Hospital's post-operative instruction sheet includes commands like "Refrain for three weeks from lifting heavy objects or bending over." Best not to let anyone tickle you either: laughing will get bleeding started like a New York fire hydrant in July.
Anyway this thing has packed a wallop and I'm ten days out from getting back to even tempo. Despite the pain and lethargia, I don't regret anything. This has put me deeply in touch with the present moment. . .
. . .as in tending to fine points of physical nature --sitting, standing, lying down; moving an arm or a lip; how to spit without causing more bleeding; keep the tongue moistened; how to chew a piece of bread, suck applesauce off a spoon; what happens when the body needs to cough, turn in bed, or lay back to find equilibrium again.
Tell me, my codeine-addled bladder, should I stand or sit lady-like to pee? Since it took three times as long to fulfil the act, sitting was preferred this week.
That's to say nothing of being away from the computer and whirl of daily chatter and buzzing demands, leaving cares of my day job on the doorstep, settling into pillows and submitting to attentive, soothing care of an angelic home nurse. . .my wife.
I've thanked her so many times. . . Gratitude, combined with reverence for life's slow healing sway, has been stirring in heart and mind, even as blood in my nostrils clotted into bullet plugs.
It's okay to look in the mirror, you fat-nosed fuck. This too shall pass.
