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After Dr. "J": For a little while I felt so hopeless, more hopeless than ever before. I mean, if a well-known plastic surgeon couldn't see the truth or even let me show him, surely no one else would. No one would EVER LISTEN to me. I was getting sicker every day. My eyes were definitely receding back into their sockets, slowly over time. I now had terribly painful charley horses behind my eyes, more dizziness and passing out. I was beginning to wonder, almost listlessly, how much bigger and fatter and more painful my feel were going to get. Those size 9 & 1/2 tennis shoes were starting to feel pretty snug, but they still fit. The pores on my face became enlarged as if my skin was gasping for air and I had more opportunistic infections. My jaw started to get stuck sometimes when I was chewing. Almost all of my joints popped and made grinding noises when I moved. My neck was a source of horrible pain and agony and it was stuck in a U shape the opposite direction of the way it was supposed to be. Eventually I decided that I couldn't stand being sick all the time, scared about exactly how far this sickness would go, without hope and without help, and still look so ugly on top of it all. I was learning to perfect the art of being an impossibly stubborn person. I was learning to be more than tenacious. I was still only 17 years old. I continued to beg my parents to let me see another plastic surgeon, just one more, for a second opinion. Finally, my father agreed but only if another doctor, a psychologist said it was absolutely necessary. In came Dr. "S." |
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