September 2010:
My senior year of college had just begun. On top of working as an editor for the school newspaper, finishing a TESOL minor, psychology major and Spanish major, and trying to decide where to go next, I was also working my way toward another personal goal: earning my 1st degree black belt in TaeKwonDo before I graduated from college. I was doing pretty well, having already attained the rank of brown belt. (*Note: I did get my 1st degree black belt before graduating with my bachelor's degree. I am currently a 3rd degree black belt, though I've had to take some time off from training because of...well, if you read the rest, you'll figure out why.)
One night during class at my TKD academy, I was sparring with a higher-ranked student. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not very good at sparring. One of the first people to teach me how to spar always had to continuously tell me to block my head. Well, this weakness was to be my downfall. Mid-match, my opponent threw a round kick (one of these, though this person would likely break his toes or severely mess up the tendons in the top of his foot in a real fight...pull your toes back and hit with the ball of your foot if you try this at home... Actually, don't try this at home. Go take a martial arts course. Anyways, I digress...) aimed at the side of my head. I made a feeble attempt to block, and stepped back to dodge.
Anyone who knows me well knows that my spatial reasoning is pretty terrible. I didn't step back quite far enough, and my opponent's foot clipped the very edge of my chin, forcing the right side of my jaw slightly out of place (which consequently led to the left side being slightly out of place, too). Being the stubborn person that I am, I massaged it back into place, moved it a little to make sure it still worked, and kept fighting.
The next day, however, I woke up to find that my jaws had swollen so much that I could barely open my mouth. The dentist took one look and said, "Well, this is way above my pay grade," and sent me to a maxillofacial surgeon. The end result? A diagnosis of temporomandibular joint disorder (TMJD). I was on steroids for a month and was told not to chew anything for three weeks. But hey, the swelling did go down, no bones were broken, and I was fine. Or so I thought.
Over the next few years, I noticed that I had the uncanny ability to predict storms just because my jaws would start aching as the atmospheric pressure changed. I figured it was just something that I learned to deal with. The doctor always told me that it would be fine: "Just don't chew for a day or so."
I knew that answer wouldn't work forever. After all, I was in school to eventually be a public school teacher. Talking is kind of an important aspect of my job, and I knew that if I couldn't chew without pain, I'd probably have a hard time talking if the trend continued.
I knew that answer wouldn't work forever. After all, I was in school to eventually be a public school teacher. Talking is kind of an important aspect of my job, and I knew that if I couldn't chew without pain, I'd probably have a hard time talking if the trend continued.
November 2012:
The stress of writing a master's thesis, along with many other stressors, finally caught up with me. I had found some temporary relief in October by having my wisdom teeth removed, but the pain in my jaws was constantly causing tension headaches.
By December, I was taking ibuprofen every day and sometimes eating only one meal a day to avoid chewing as much as possible. I had migraines every few days. Something had to be done, so I decided to find yet another specialist to look at my jaws. Third time's a charm, right? But finding the right specialist was easier said than done.
March 2013:
After going through multiple leads to try to find a doctor who was at least within my insurance network, I finally made a consultation appointment with Dr. Michael Wooten in Knoxville, TN. For the first time since being kicked in the face, someone sat down with me and simply explained what it meant to have a TMJ disorder. The word that I knew I would hear but was still afraid of finally came up: surgery. Dr. Wooten specialized in TMJ surgery, and he said it was very possible that I was a candidate for a procedure called a TMJ scope. We had to verify that, though, with a type of x-ray called an arthrogram. On March 18, I showed up at UT Medical Center for that procedure.
The doctor and his assistant numbed my face, then proceeded to fill my jaw joint as full of fluid as it could possibly hold, then they had me open and close my mouth and recorded what happened as my jaw moved. After a minute or so of a break, the entire procedure was repeated on the other side. It was not a pleasant experience in the least, but they made it easier by at least providing pleasant company. I learned that not very many people who come through for this procedure have trauma-related TMJ and that most wait a lot longer (which makes everything a lot more painful). I can't imagine having waited much longer than I did; it was painful enough after less than three years. I also learned that the left side was much worse than the right side; the doctor didn't even have to look at a picture to predict that. He could just tell by how it felt.
After a few days of waiting (rather impatiently, I might add. I think I drove everyone around me a little crazy with my obsession with my telephone), I got the call to come back to Dr. Wooten's office to review the results. And here is what they found:
The photo represents how a jaw is supposed to work. Mine worked fairly well with a single exception.
The small disk of cartilage in both of my jaws could not stay on top of the condyle like it is supposed to. In a relaxed position, the cartilage in my jaws was being forced forward by scar tissue, causing all sorts of muscle strain, not to mention strain on the connective tissues that were trying to hold the disk in place. Were it not for the scar tissue pushing the disk forward, my jaws would likely work exactly like they were designed to.
Because of this result, Dr. Wooten determined that I was a candidate for a TMJ scope to remove the scar tissue and cauterize the area to hopefully help prevent more tissue from forming. Which leads me to today.
June 2, 2013:
It's a typical Sunday, singing in the choir, talking with friends after church, cleaning a little to get ready for the next week. But it's not a typical Sunday because in the back of my head, there is a hopeful thought: This could be the last Sunday that I have constant jaw pain when I sing, talk and chew. The past six months have been some of the worst in my medical history, and it very well may end on Tuesday, June 4.
Tomorrow, I'll go to Knoxville to undergo a few pre-surgery tests and to register at the hospital. Then, early Tuesday morning, I'll go to sleep and wake up with a few holes in my head and hopefully clean jaw joints. Recovery will take about a week before I can start working my way back to normal levels.
Sure, I'll probably never be able to chew gum again. I might never be able to bite into a whole apple or enjoy a bag of taffy. But I might be able to sing without pain. I might not have to miss work because my jaws locked in the middle of the night. And it may sound silly, but I'm also looking forward to yawning and even sneezing again without so much pain.
Dr. Wooten has told me many times that there is no real cure for TMJ disorders. But the goal isn't a cure; it is an improvement. And as scared as I am of surgery, I'm looking forward to making improvements in my jaws and doing what I can to keep them healthy for years to come.
By December, I was taking ibuprofen every day and sometimes eating only one meal a day to avoid chewing as much as possible. I had migraines every few days. Something had to be done, so I decided to find yet another specialist to look at my jaws. Third time's a charm, right? But finding the right specialist was easier said than done.
March 2013:
After going through multiple leads to try to find a doctor who was at least within my insurance network, I finally made a consultation appointment with Dr. Michael Wooten in Knoxville, TN. For the first time since being kicked in the face, someone sat down with me and simply explained what it meant to have a TMJ disorder. The word that I knew I would hear but was still afraid of finally came up: surgery. Dr. Wooten specialized in TMJ surgery, and he said it was very possible that I was a candidate for a procedure called a TMJ scope. We had to verify that, though, with a type of x-ray called an arthrogram. On March 18, I showed up at UT Medical Center for that procedure.
The doctor and his assistant numbed my face, then proceeded to fill my jaw joint as full of fluid as it could possibly hold, then they had me open and close my mouth and recorded what happened as my jaw moved. After a minute or so of a break, the entire procedure was repeated on the other side. It was not a pleasant experience in the least, but they made it easier by at least providing pleasant company. I learned that not very many people who come through for this procedure have trauma-related TMJ and that most wait a lot longer (which makes everything a lot more painful). I can't imagine having waited much longer than I did; it was painful enough after less than three years. I also learned that the left side was much worse than the right side; the doctor didn't even have to look at a picture to predict that. He could just tell by how it felt.
After a few days of waiting (rather impatiently, I might add. I think I drove everyone around me a little crazy with my obsession with my telephone), I got the call to come back to Dr. Wooten's office to review the results. And here is what they found:
The photo represents how a jaw is supposed to work. Mine worked fairly well with a single exception.
The small disk of cartilage in both of my jaws could not stay on top of the condyle like it is supposed to. In a relaxed position, the cartilage in my jaws was being forced forward by scar tissue, causing all sorts of muscle strain, not to mention strain on the connective tissues that were trying to hold the disk in place. Were it not for the scar tissue pushing the disk forward, my jaws would likely work exactly like they were designed to.
Because of this result, Dr. Wooten determined that I was a candidate for a TMJ scope to remove the scar tissue and cauterize the area to hopefully help prevent more tissue from forming. Which leads me to today.
June 2, 2013:
It's a typical Sunday, singing in the choir, talking with friends after church, cleaning a little to get ready for the next week. But it's not a typical Sunday because in the back of my head, there is a hopeful thought: This could be the last Sunday that I have constant jaw pain when I sing, talk and chew. The past six months have been some of the worst in my medical history, and it very well may end on Tuesday, June 4.
Tomorrow, I'll go to Knoxville to undergo a few pre-surgery tests and to register at the hospital. Then, early Tuesday morning, I'll go to sleep and wake up with a few holes in my head and hopefully clean jaw joints. Recovery will take about a week before I can start working my way back to normal levels.
Sure, I'll probably never be able to chew gum again. I might never be able to bite into a whole apple or enjoy a bag of taffy. But I might be able to sing without pain. I might not have to miss work because my jaws locked in the middle of the night. And it may sound silly, but I'm also looking forward to yawning and even sneezing again without so much pain.
Dr. Wooten has told me many times that there is no real cure for TMJ disorders. But the goal isn't a cure; it is an improvement. And as scared as I am of surgery, I'm looking forward to making improvements in my jaws and doing what I can to keep them healthy for years to come.
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