an article from Ricky

If paradise is the opposite of hell, then I’ve traveled to hell and am now back in paradise. This portion of my life story is for you, my dear friend. Know that you’re not alone.

To Hell and Back

By Ricky

Whether we realize it or not we’re all living on borrowed time. My clock started ticking when about 15 years ago a tumor was located imbedded in my parotid glands. To successfully remove it, nerves controlling the left side of my face were severed and re-attached. Given today’s technology, I probably would have walked scot-free, but modern science was fifteen years in the making. The outcome was a partial paralysis of my face, a partial life, if you can even call it that.

Just how important is your face? It is the first and last thing you see in the mirror every single day of your waking moment. It is the first thing others see as well, and sometimes, you’re judged based solely on this feature. Fair – no, reality – yes IT IS. Just how many of us actually pay attention to these innate facial movements: the monotony of closing and opening of your eyelids, wrinkling your nose when it’s itchy, raising an eyebrow, moving your lips to follow the words your tongue is trying so hard to enunciate, smiling…

Imagine owning a face that hangs limp because muscles and nerves are not doing what Mother Nature intended it to do. Imagine owning a face that scares even an innocent four-year old little girl, your very own little girl. Imagine owning a face that even you, the wearer of such face get nightmares from.

For ten months, I was incognito living in darkened rooms, scarves around my face, and a patch over my left eye. For ten months I stared at myself in the mirror twice a day and nothing more doing simple exercises like closing my eyes, wrinkling my nose, raising my eyebrows, and moving my lips enough so that my speech isn’t too slurred. For ten months I struggled to sleep with one eye wide open and lips that can’t stop drool from sliding down my chin. For ten months people in general were my enemy with their certain look, their certain tone of voice, their certain anything that would set me off the edge of self-loathing. For ten months all the mirrors around the house but one were taken down together with any pictures reminding me of how I used to look. For ten months I couldn’t feel my husband’s and daughter’s hand when they touched me in the face. For ten months I stayed away from almost every person I knew including the people I loved the most. For ten months I hated myself and hated God.

The doctors warned me it wasn’t going to be easy. They armed me with a list of phone numbers: psychologists, psychiatrists, and suicide hotlines. It only took ten months to physically put me together, but it took years to build me up to where I’m at today. A battered psyche leaves a lot of scars. Without the support of my family and friends, I wouldn’t be here today. I also believe that even in my darkest hours, God was there for me taking my abuse but continue to be at my side. I will forever be grateful for the smallest things that happen in my life. I shall never take anything for granted.