I may have faced all my procedures thus far mostly calm and like a hero for the most part, awake and talking and joking the whole time whenever my mouth wasn't full of tools, but...
Why oh why I chose to search "dental implant" videos on youtube before bedtime is beyond me. I have to admit, I don't think there is any other procedure that could be done to my mouth that could look more terrifying on video.
So...which of my friends wants to come film it when I get to that point? Haha. Hmm...
I must say, that as much as we all wish health care was free and available equally to everyone, the more I learn about the process of implants, and all these procedures (or endure them for that matter) the more respect I have for dentistry as an "art" form in and of itself. Considering myself an artist for about 25 years of my life, and a sculptor, mechanic, tinkerer and general person good with tools of all kinds and working with my hands and also X-acto knives, accomplishing ridiculously OCD kinds of creations at times, I have become quite fascinated with dentistry over the past few months.
For all the subtle, unspoken criticism of sorts it seems I have garnered from a few friends for opting to pay so much for my treatment, (as opposed to just going to Mexico, India, Thailand or something?) I frankly must admit, that I think it is WORTH the cost, and one reason of many, is as follows: Given my own prowess with knives and dremels and obsessive attention to detail, if someone came to me and wanted an implant put in a mouth as like, an "art commission," I bet if I had all the tools and training I could do it. Hell, even from a youtube video. It makes sense--I understand all about creating templates as guides, keeping a drill perpendicular, drilling pilot holes, etc. But I would probably charge a similar amount of money given how extensive of a process it is, even to put one perfectly aligned, fitted tooth in a mouth. It would actually be kind of a fun sculture project for me, I think. BUT. It's simply not something I want to get the biggest possible discount I can on. I was excited last year thinking I might finally be brave and go get Lasik when I saw the price had apparently come down tremendously, it occured to me that if that old saying "You get what you pay for" could posibly be true about anything, my eyesight most certainly was one of those circumstances. When you need to have open heart surgery, do you call around for the cheapest hospital? Really? Maybe see if they will take a coupon you found in the New Times?
After all these years, if I am actually going to finally take care of myself, I may as well do it right. Or, I'll rephrase that: I reserve the right to pay what I choose and have my treatment taken care of by whomever I trust and determine is right for me, because I know me better than anyone, and it is my choice, and no one else's. If you or anyone doesn't want to donate to my cause because I am not going to your dentist or something, fine, but all I ask is that you respect my choice.
Another reason I am not searching for a $3,000 dental drive-thru vacation somewhere, for anyone who is interested in further clarity, is this:
There is a REASON that this happened to me. There are many reasons, in fact. It has hugely affected my mental health and my every action and motivation and how I've lived my life for over half of it. Though I myself am amazed by my progress over the past several months, and all that Pinar and Rakhee and others have helped me, even if I won the lottery and had got a full mouth reconstruction of the one-day implants overnight, I know wholeheartedly, that my own healing would not have come so easily. I am doing this on my own terms, as fast or as slow as it takes. I am writing it out as I go. It has helped me to, for the first time probably in my life, to bring every aspect of my life and creativity into one focus, one higher purpose, for the greater good of my own healing, mentally and physically, and however much I may talk about it or seem positive, it is far from an easy road toward an overnight smile. In all honesty, I am still teaching myself to brush and floss! I am trying to instill in myself each day, a discipline I have never ever had, along with the 100 other things I do each day at work and play all day long. It is hard. It is tiresome. It is frustrating. It is quite often painful, depressing, alienating, and lonely. But I am facing it, nonetheless, the best that I can. And it will take me as long as it takes.
So I thank you all as much as I can remember to--your support means so very much to me, and despite my dedication to the Mesa Dental School, I am of course open to other possible options as the Universe may present them if I deem they are right for me. Though I am certainly "stubborn" and decisive as well, by all means, feel free to still offer suggestions and advice based on your own experiences. Help me continue to reach out, network, organize fundraisers, and get word out if you wish to, but please also...know that I feel blessed and am grateful for the path I am currently on, and that I above all, trust my dentist and all others I am working with. Thank you.
Without Rakhee, I honestly don't know where I would be or what I would be doing right now. I am humbled, moved and inspired daily by her, to keep moving forward. To laugh, to smile, and to remember and to try my best to brush my damn teeth, for the first time in my life.
And on that note, at 3:56AM, I am going to finally try to sleep before I work at 8:00AM and then have my next appointment at 1:00PM. Dammit, brain! Goodnight, my readers. Thanks, as always, for listening. Sweet dreams...
Friday, April 8, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The Ghost of Dentist's Past
As mentioned earlier, I had begun to acquire cavities in my early teens, the first of which I recall beginning to hurt when I was fifteen. Long before the days of the internet, with family I either kept ignorant of my problem or who simply never asked or had the resources to support regular check-ups, I was also very ignorant of dental care in general, or even what the status of my teeth was, of what was happening in my mouth over the years. I would over time begin to think of it like "rusting," in a way, or, ironically, like my teeth were constructed like the hard, sugary material of candy canes. my saliva synonymous with the real culprit, sugar, as I was told as a kid. If you think about it, with some very sped up time-lapse photography, the effect is much the same. See also: Erosion.
As I watched the spaces between my teeth slowly grow bigger enough so I barely opened my mouth even at 17, I never at that time believed that there was anything I could do to fix or further prevent it from happening. The more I learn from Rakhee and my appointments now, and the more things I google, I can't help but still feel "cheated" by my mother in a way. I refuse to any longer believe in this defeatist term "hereditary" thrown so easily around by the doctors of my childhood. Maybe I'm a moron in medicine's eyes, but from all I've ever read of statistics and critical thinking 101 and nutrition, so many of our health problems often summed up nicely by words like "hereditary" can be traced instead to the shared circumstances of our upbringing. To be a doctor and sum up so many conditions neatly by calling them hereditary, especially talking to young people, seems misleading but also downright irresponsible to me. Maybe my mother will always in many ways be that same ignorant child who never grew up or accepted responsibility for her actions after she had me, but maybe the reason that she told me that I was going to have gum disease like my parents so it didn't matter if I brushed or not was partially because HER dentist was an asshole and never ever gave her HOPE as a tortured teenager that there was anything she could do about HER teeth.
Maybe it was "hereditary," I guess I will never know officially. But what I DO know are that my mother has drank soda practically as a substitute for water her whole life and ate like crap, and I ate candy and all sorts of things containing high fructose corn syrup my whole childhood and virtually never brushed at all. If you ask me, hereditary REALLY just means "to follow along blindly in your parents' unhealthy habits and bad choices, and years later not have to feel guilty about it, because it was just "in your genes." What a great scapegoat for the US health care industry, to never seem to emphasize preventative care, to make patients feel like if obese, meat-eating, couch potato parents suffer from high cholesterol, heart disease and strokes, that they too may share the same fate? Hmmm? This is certainly the way that my hypochondriac mother has been made to feel for most of her life.
Dear Dentist,
If as a teenager, I had somehow seen the light and altered my diet and dental hygiene, would my cavity resistance really had been futile? Was the condition I had as early as twelve years old really an irreparable "disease," or just a long series of bad habits, never discouraged by my parents own bad habits and poor health. Was I really just postponing the inevitable, and would that not then also mean, that I still am? Would that not make the dozen dental students and professionals I have been currently seeing all big fat liars? Or maybe really, just one of them from my past? Because looking back now, after all these years, frankly, I believe that that is fucking bullshit, and while I may have over time learned to not "blame" anyone for these unfortunate choices I have had to live with over the past 20 years that will effect the rest of my life as well, I am still pointing a finger at YOU, Dr. Karpinski in Auburn, New York if I remember correctly since 6th grade, for letting such retarded seeds get planted in my mother's head that allowed her to grow such ignorance and neglect for mine and her own teeth.
When I was 17 I didn't know what could be done. I had never heard of implants or veneers or bridges. The only 2 options I had ever heard of living in the backwoods of upstate NY for teeth were to either get them filled or pulled. Picture me, a senior in high school, terrified of going to the dentist because I thought I needed dentures. No, really. What else could be done? I didn't have movie star money for some other magic procedure. i had read in a magazine back then that Harrison Ford had had his front teeth knocked out filming Indiana Jones and he had had some kind of "false" teeth put in. He looked fine, but, he was also a damned movie star! I was on welfare. Scratch THAT idea. Next?
I had heard you could somehow get them "capped," though I had never heard of any friends or anyone who had had it done. My grandparents both had dentures they never wore, and somehow survived gumming everything. I remember how Ma would always pick nuts out of her bowl of ice cream. I wonder now, thinking back, to what extent the foods they both ate was truly effected in ways I was never aware of, in ways I have no doubt adopted myself over the years.
There was one kid who transferred in to my class senior year who was the first kid I had ever met my age who was missing a front tooth. Though I don't recall the cause, he wore what he called a "partial," which I deeply feared was what was going to become of me. He had somehow come to terms with it, it had seemed, and would always take it out and flash it around and I think in some ways, it drove me crazy because he was somehow more comfortable with himself than I was. Here, he had what could be conceived as a similar predicament as mine, but no one really seemed to judge HIM for it, so what was I afraid of? Why could I not even confide in my best friend, who also happened to be the first person I later found out, whom I would know that had a "bonded" part of a front tooth he had chipped? Why could I never find the shoulder of a best friend to support me to walk through the doors of a dentist's office so many years ago? I know, I can keep myself awake all night again and again with questions like these, and even though I am finally on the road to recovery, I still can't help but always ask myself:
WHY?
Because I'm not sure I really still know that answer. But I hope to find it somewhere, buried deep within this mouth. I hope to finally bury all these old confused parts of me deep within their graves in my jawbone, and commemorate them with shiny new headstones my long-forgotten favorite foods will be able to visit again daily. I hope these ghosts and me with my lifetime of insomnia, can finally get some sleep...
As I watched the spaces between my teeth slowly grow bigger enough so I barely opened my mouth even at 17, I never at that time believed that there was anything I could do to fix or further prevent it from happening. The more I learn from Rakhee and my appointments now, and the more things I google, I can't help but still feel "cheated" by my mother in a way. I refuse to any longer believe in this defeatist term "hereditary" thrown so easily around by the doctors of my childhood. Maybe I'm a moron in medicine's eyes, but from all I've ever read of statistics and critical thinking 101 and nutrition, so many of our health problems often summed up nicely by words like "hereditary" can be traced instead to the shared circumstances of our upbringing. To be a doctor and sum up so many conditions neatly by calling them hereditary, especially talking to young people, seems misleading but also downright irresponsible to me. Maybe my mother will always in many ways be that same ignorant child who never grew up or accepted responsibility for her actions after she had me, but maybe the reason that she told me that I was going to have gum disease like my parents so it didn't matter if I brushed or not was partially because HER dentist was an asshole and never ever gave her HOPE as a tortured teenager that there was anything she could do about HER teeth.
Maybe it was "hereditary," I guess I will never know officially. But what I DO know are that my mother has drank soda practically as a substitute for water her whole life and ate like crap, and I ate candy and all sorts of things containing high fructose corn syrup my whole childhood and virtually never brushed at all. If you ask me, hereditary REALLY just means "to follow along blindly in your parents' unhealthy habits and bad choices, and years later not have to feel guilty about it, because it was just "in your genes." What a great scapegoat for the US health care industry, to never seem to emphasize preventative care, to make patients feel like if obese, meat-eating, couch potato parents suffer from high cholesterol, heart disease and strokes, that they too may share the same fate? Hmmm? This is certainly the way that my hypochondriac mother has been made to feel for most of her life.
Dear Dentist,
If as a teenager, I had somehow seen the light and altered my diet and dental hygiene, would my cavity resistance really had been futile? Was the condition I had as early as twelve years old really an irreparable "disease," or just a long series of bad habits, never discouraged by my parents own bad habits and poor health. Was I really just postponing the inevitable, and would that not then also mean, that I still am? Would that not make the dozen dental students and professionals I have been currently seeing all big fat liars? Or maybe really, just one of them from my past? Because looking back now, after all these years, frankly, I believe that that is fucking bullshit, and while I may have over time learned to not "blame" anyone for these unfortunate choices I have had to live with over the past 20 years that will effect the rest of my life as well, I am still pointing a finger at YOU, Dr. Karpinski in Auburn, New York if I remember correctly since 6th grade, for letting such retarded seeds get planted in my mother's head that allowed her to grow such ignorance and neglect for mine and her own teeth.
When I was 17 I didn't know what could be done. I had never heard of implants or veneers or bridges. The only 2 options I had ever heard of living in the backwoods of upstate NY for teeth were to either get them filled or pulled. Picture me, a senior in high school, terrified of going to the dentist because I thought I needed dentures. No, really. What else could be done? I didn't have movie star money for some other magic procedure. i had read in a magazine back then that Harrison Ford had had his front teeth knocked out filming Indiana Jones and he had had some kind of "false" teeth put in. He looked fine, but, he was also a damned movie star! I was on welfare. Scratch THAT idea. Next?
I had heard you could somehow get them "capped," though I had never heard of any friends or anyone who had had it done. My grandparents both had dentures they never wore, and somehow survived gumming everything. I remember how Ma would always pick nuts out of her bowl of ice cream. I wonder now, thinking back, to what extent the foods they both ate was truly effected in ways I was never aware of, in ways I have no doubt adopted myself over the years.
There was one kid who transferred in to my class senior year who was the first kid I had ever met my age who was missing a front tooth. Though I don't recall the cause, he wore what he called a "partial," which I deeply feared was what was going to become of me. He had somehow come to terms with it, it had seemed, and would always take it out and flash it around and I think in some ways, it drove me crazy because he was somehow more comfortable with himself than I was. Here, he had what could be conceived as a similar predicament as mine, but no one really seemed to judge HIM for it, so what was I afraid of? Why could I not even confide in my best friend, who also happened to be the first person I later found out, whom I would know that had a "bonded" part of a front tooth he had chipped? Why could I never find the shoulder of a best friend to support me to walk through the doors of a dentist's office so many years ago? I know, I can keep myself awake all night again and again with questions like these, and even though I am finally on the road to recovery, I still can't help but always ask myself:
WHY?
Because I'm not sure I really still know that answer. But I hope to find it somewhere, buried deep within this mouth. I hope to finally bury all these old confused parts of me deep within their graves in my jawbone, and commemorate them with shiny new headstones my long-forgotten favorite foods will be able to visit again daily. I hope these ghosts and me with my lifetime of insomnia, can finally get some sleep...
Sunday, March 27, 2011
3 more teeth gone, and appointment number 8!
Last Tuesday the 22nd would mark my eighth appointment in Mesa and my last day with teeth 17, 18 and 19. I think I impressed the latest oral surgery student Trent that Rakhee would be assisting early on by actually knowing them by number. It had been a little longer of a wait after the frequency of past visits with the school being out for spring break, and though there was lots of new stuff to talk about, I think my energy felt a little bit off. This was all really happening. It was kind of hard to believe that after today I would have virtually all of my back teeth out. With only a few premolars and canines left, today would mark a commitment to pudding and overcooked macaroni and cheese, blended soups, smoothies and ice creams far into the future, the end of which I could not say. Though it was very hard for me to try to chew many things with broken crowns before, it is a much different story when there is no tooth there at all. It has been interesting, as the weeks have passed, to become more and more aware of the teeth that I do still have, feeling them touch in ways they never did before. It doesn't really make a lot of sense to me, because the rest of my broken teeth could have never really touched before them much in the first place, but I nonetheless can feel their presence with each bite in a way I never have before. Perhaps it is their way of calling out to remind me as the rest of the walls are being knocked down, that they are still there. A reminder, that I have a strong foundation of canines still intact to act as anchors for the new structure yet to come?
They prepped me as has become the ritual for the past several appointments now sign on the line and I lean back to let the shots begin, noticing that this time there was no coconut-flavored topical agent as Rakhee customarily administers before pricking me. (Are you reading this, Trent?) He defended with an, "actually, a topical only reached a depth of 2 milimeters whereas the needle enters much deeper, yadda-yaddah-yadda" but I think we ALL know that upon the initial entrance of the needles, perhaps especially if puncturing infected tissue such as mine, that however small it is, I promise you that the artificial taste of coconut, strawberry or even if it tasted like Peridex, trust me when I tell you it makes a difference. This was the first time that I have felt a needle in four appointments, dear Trent. Just saying :-)
Okay, so...sparing you the graphic details...this visit...was really hard. Rakhee confided early on that she had apparently saved me the best for last (?) informing me that this quadrant was in fact the most infected of all. All I could think was, that's funny, how the hell could you tell? It all looked the same to me. As Trent's magic memory would inform me again, the infection apparently changes the ph in my body making it harder for me to get numb, and though what I felt was a far cry from not being numb at all, I was surprised over and over to feel ______ when the drill would sneak around the corner and ring my bell. Though I think my pain tolerance is much higher than most, I will be the first to admit that I often flinch a little at the first twinge of surprise discomfort. I get that from my Grandmother, who would always stub her toe or cut herself and yell "Ow, bitch!" at some inanimate object before even realizing if she had pain, I think. Though I jump at times, it is hard for me to backtrack in the moment and realize what just happened, but I think that for the most part that day, that it was indeed pain.
A few more shots and some continued cutting to separate the two roots of my rear left wisdom tooth, #17, the first piece finally came free. As Rakhee and Trent's hands full of tools played what seemed like a losing game of Twister in my mouth for several minutes, the other half finally broke free as I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and lay in waiting for the next round. Showing me the X-ray, Trent pointed out why this tooth was so stuck in my mouth, its roots curving together to touch at the bottom around bone, instead of growing straight.
The worst of it I hoped finally over, I chose to try to distract myself by taking pictures, taking a break from my usual focal point of the overhead Peyton & Crane logo on the lightbulb, or the sprinkler nozzle in the ceiling. I am particularly amazed by this composition on my second try:
As they tagged each other out and Rakhee got the chance to wrestle again with the remaining evil team of 18 and 19 in my mouth with tools I still have not quite memorized the numbers of, (though for the record, I know and HATE the infamous "Minnesota" and I think it has quickly become to my mouth what a whisper of "speculum" provokes amongst women everywhere!) she asked a nearby doctor if she minded taking a few more pictures.
I'm gonna cut it short and let the pictures tell the story for this day, but I will add that today's stitches SUCKED! I guess it was because the surrounding tissue was so infected (?) but strangely enough it was among the worst sensations felt thus far, and generally it is not too bad. Different technique? Idunno, but I would have rather got two more #17s out than endure those stitches again. It felt like the first time I was truly sweating in the chair. Remind me to go watch that scene in First Blood again where my childhood hero Rambo stitches up his own arm after jumping off a cliff into an evergreen forest to psych myself up, I guess.
I left that day paying for all three extractions with the money from my dinner party, and scheduling my next three appointments for April, which I currently put down enough credit from Paypal donations (mostly) and my own money to also pay for, and more. I got antibiotics this time and may be switching gears to do some fillings and stuff before yanking my front four. I am humbled to look back to only two months ago and realize how much has happened, how much every aspect of my life has changed and continues to change, how differently people have been treating me, and how moved I am to have ventured so far on this new journey so quickly with Rakhee's and all of your support. Thank you all so much for reading and continuing to spread the word. I hope my ramblings can continue to be interesting and inspire others to take care of themselves as well, and ask for help. Thank you.
They prepped me as has become the ritual for the past several appointments now sign on the line and I lean back to let the shots begin, noticing that this time there was no coconut-flavored topical agent as Rakhee customarily administers before pricking me. (Are you reading this, Trent?) He defended with an, "actually, a topical only reached a depth of 2 milimeters whereas the needle enters much deeper, yadda-yaddah-yadda" but I think we ALL know that upon the initial entrance of the needles, perhaps especially if puncturing infected tissue such as mine, that however small it is, I promise you that the artificial taste of coconut, strawberry or even if it tasted like Peridex, trust me when I tell you it makes a difference. This was the first time that I have felt a needle in four appointments, dear Trent. Just saying :-)
Okay, so...sparing you the graphic details...this visit...was really hard. Rakhee confided early on that she had apparently saved me the best for last (?) informing me that this quadrant was in fact the most infected of all. All I could think was, that's funny, how the hell could you tell? It all looked the same to me. As Trent's magic memory would inform me again, the infection apparently changes the ph in my body making it harder for me to get numb, and though what I felt was a far cry from not being numb at all, I was surprised over and over to feel ______ when the drill would sneak around the corner and ring my bell. Though I think my pain tolerance is much higher than most, I will be the first to admit that I often flinch a little at the first twinge of surprise discomfort. I get that from my Grandmother, who would always stub her toe or cut herself and yell "Ow, bitch!" at some inanimate object before even realizing if she had pain, I think. Though I jump at times, it is hard for me to backtrack in the moment and realize what just happened, but I think that for the most part that day, that it was indeed pain.
A few more shots and some continued cutting to separate the two roots of my rear left wisdom tooth, #17, the first piece finally came free. As Rakhee and Trent's hands full of tools played what seemed like a losing game of Twister in my mouth for several minutes, the other half finally broke free as I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and lay in waiting for the next round. Showing me the X-ray, Trent pointed out why this tooth was so stuck in my mouth, its roots curving together to touch at the bottom around bone, instead of growing straight.
The worst of it I hoped finally over, I chose to try to distract myself by taking pictures, taking a break from my usual focal point of the overhead Peyton & Crane logo on the lightbulb, or the sprinkler nozzle in the ceiling. I am particularly amazed by this composition on my second try:
 |
| Trent and Rakhee headbutting. Hey, what're you guys looking at? |
As they tagged each other out and Rakhee got the chance to wrestle again with the remaining evil team of 18 and 19 in my mouth with tools I still have not quite memorized the numbers of, (though for the record, I know and HATE the infamous "Minnesota" and I think it has quickly become to my mouth what a whisper of "speculum" provokes amongst women everywhere!) she asked a nearby doctor if she minded taking a few more pictures.
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| Seriously, am I right, people? Is this Twister, or what? Right hand suction on #17! Left hand pokey proddy thing...oh, dental humor. You guys are going to get sooo tired of me! |
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| God, I look so serious. You would think I had a mullet and there was Nascar on the ceiling or something. |
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| Okay, after two hours I get kinda giddy. Luckily my dentists and I have learned a secret language or grunts and gurgles despite having a bite-block in. Seriously though, I think Rakhee is starting to get it down. Ugh" once means pull this gauze trap out before I gag and cough blood at your masks and earn you another "Contaminated" sticker and "Is your nose itchy?" jokes among your colleagues. (Haha.) "Ugh" twice means my lips are not numb, and get offended when you forget about them and their ability to still be pinched between numerous tools and hurt!" No "ughs" means...well. "OWWW! Hold your breath, Paul. You are the Zen Master. You are one more tooth away from Enlightenment. Hang in there..." |
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| Moneyshot, moneyshot! Save this one for your portfolios, guys. Feel free to Photoshop out that bug-eyed ass look on my face. Good lord. |
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| More little bloody angry bits of the old Paul, in the trash. Soon to be replaced by titanium Terminator teeth! Boo-yah! (Yeah...I never say boo-yah. Fooled ya, people who don't know me. Haha.) |
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| Take a bow, guys. You, are my heroes of the day. |
I left that day paying for all three extractions with the money from my dinner party, and scheduling my next three appointments for April, which I currently put down enough credit from Paypal donations (mostly) and my own money to also pay for, and more. I got antibiotics this time and may be switching gears to do some fillings and stuff before yanking my front four. I am humbled to look back to only two months ago and realize how much has happened, how much every aspect of my life has changed and continues to change, how differently people have been treating me, and how moved I am to have ventured so far on this new journey so quickly with Rakhee's and all of your support. Thank you all so much for reading and continuing to spread the word. I hope my ramblings can continue to be interesting and inspire others to take care of themselves as well, and ask for help. Thank you.
I almost forgot, I made blog promo cards!
I will add, that though I know I have come a long way in a short time as far as my openness to talk about this issue and share my story and pictures of myself and my procedures, or let others repost them, it is a little different than handing a stranger (or a friend, even) one of these cards with my mouth on it and waiting for a reaction. But I think that so far, I mostly am able to deal with it. Though when I leave them in public, I don't place them all mouth up, the very fact that I even leave one of them upturned now and then feels good to me, and feels like another small step in a positive direction.
Let me know if you would like any cards to give out. I still have a bunch, and will be making more regularly. Thanks!
On the "Rockys" in my life
Ever since I was a kid, I have always found inspiration from the heroes of action and adventure movies. I attribute a lot of this I guess to living a pretty sheltered life in the backwoods of upstate New York and having few real life heroes per se, outside of family members. In the 80s, if you had asked most any boy in America who their heroes were, I would wager most would have said a character from an Arnold Schwarzeneggar or Sylvester Stallone movie, perhaps Indiana Jones or Hulk Hogan or Superman close runner's up. I grew up loving them all, but it was always Rocky that inspired me to exercise and want to get in shape. Though Rocky IV in all its Cold War propaganda glory will always be my favorite, and the one that to this day stands as the main inspiration for me wanting to do pull-ups as a kid, there are numerous sequences and songs throughout them all that I still can't watch without being on the edge of my seat wanting to destroy whatever obstacles are in front of me, pulse pounding, veins filled with blood.
On the bike tour this past fall for several weeks I was sad that among all of my endless precautionary items for every emergency that I packed, one of the main lapses in judgment I seemed to space out on was, well, the inclusion of a soundtrack for my adventure. As Pinar and I biked on and on, I began to get a little bitter, honestly, that she had brought an mp3 player and was lost in song somewhere ahead of me, while I had only my thoughts to listen to. Sometimes that can be good, others...not so much. One thing is for certain however, and that is during times of intense physical challenges, upbeat and/or aggressive music can work wonders at helping you to find the strength to overcome whatever obstacles are in front of you, whether that be a giant hill, another ten miles before sunset, or the ability to ignore the cold chill in your bones in the morning. The day that I finally gave in and bought an mp3 player at a Walmart, it should be no shocker to anyone who knows me that one of the first albums I downloaded was the best of the Rocky soundtracks. Pedaling off down the road from the Fred Meyer parking lot that day, listening to "Eye of the Tiger" for the first time in months was a communion with my inner child I had almost forgotten about, so wrapped up in the logistics of each day's ride. It was a reminder of a part of me that existed long before this current journey, a fearlessness I found as a kid through music that as silly as it might have seemed to some people, gave me strength that day in ways that nothing else could have.
I wrote the following in an email to a friend last October about that day:
"I was sleeping alone inside the burned out guts of a redwood tree in the middle of the first forest I met in California and it grounded me back to remember more about who i was, knowing that i could be doing all this alone right now--that, regardless of if we have a lover, best friend, adventure partner to brave the daylight with, whatever....ultimately, we are all alone each night, anyway. Being in that tree took me back to my childhood, when i spent hours and hours alone with trees, in my imagination, where every day was a game and nothing mattered. Things were so easy. I've been really nostalgic or sentimental or whatever on this trip, thinking of my childhood. Riding bikes, playing in nature, every day always worked out. A snickers bar on the table when i got home from school, Hulk Hogan on TV and everyone a hero in my head.
In the end, you have to be your own hero. You have to love yourself. You have to know that you are capable of anything and look forward to those challenges, not be frustrated. We keep downloading silly adventure movies in cafes along the way that we watch while camping. Goonies, Indiana Jones, The Matrix, Star Wars....they only seem to prove this point.
The Rocky soundtrack isn't what gets me over hills. It's not a challenge to myself to be like Rocky, it's a challenge to myself, to be like ME. To stop hiding, to stop being afraid, and to let the deepest most inner secret parts of me, fears and bullshit and all, out for the world to see. Throw it all on the table each day and risk my comfort and sanity to be passionate and inspiring to others, to elevate us all higher into one euphoric dreamlike consciousness where we know and believe that we can ALL be superheros--we can all find, create, and nurture happiness in ourselves and others. We can all kindle our adventurous spirits and find our inner Macguyvers or Indiana Jones. We are all Goonies. We can all have fun...
I'm still learning this. or developing it, like a magic trick, perfecting, to every day become a more powerful and clever wizard to pull the wool over people's eyes just for a moment before pulling it back again and showing them that there are in fact, no strings. This is the way that it is. This is the way that you can live as well."
My "eye of the tiger" however would immediately lose its fire shortly after I mounted my new stereo on my bike
and in Trinidad, California, on October 21th, 2010, I would lose yet another large piece of a front tooth while eating a roasted panini sandwich. This was the day that I would take the first picture of my mouth in years, similar to the one that is now on its way to becoming viral it would seem, in an effort to try to let the reality of my situation ever sink in,
staring at myself in the bathroom of that cafe that afternoon, feeling completely alone and powerless. Shortly before that moment, as my best friend was dancing outside on the phone, having just received word over the phone that she had gotten accepted into the college of her dreams, I could not have been on a further planet, emotionally, as I wrote these words in my journal:
It is hard now, to think back to how I felt that day. Though it has been over five months now, I am still haunted by the intense feeling of loss I felt that day. Though she held me as I cried myself to sleep that night in our tent on the beach, my mind could not have been further away. My problem that night, every night for years, was not one that love or hugs alone could fix.
We had been to hell and back on a hundred different horses it had seemed over the past year of adventures together, with my shoulders more often than not hefting a lot of the burden. But on this day, finally, it was written all over my broken face that things would simply not be the same. Though we may have rolled across the Golden Gate Bridge together, the fact that our own internal struggles were very different could not have been more clear. Now, more than ever, I knew that the only real obstacle in my life to my own success and happiness was myself. To find my Apollo Creed I need look no further than my own mouth. The real battle I had left Phoenix with my closest friend to face, and left New York even 5 years before, was one with myself, over the regrets of my past.
All I had wanted for years was to have a big climax of my movie like in Good Will Hunting and cry on someone's shoulder while they tell me "It's not your fault," and to somehow be okay with it, and move on. I still never was granted that wish, and I think I have also reached a point where I don't care anymore. I can't blame my parents or my family my whole life any more than I can blame my friends for not being mind-readers. I used to always think that if my friends never asked me about my teeth that it must have meant that they were uncomfortable with me. It never once occurred to me that maybe they didn't know my secret because I went to such great lengths to hide it, and it was in fact only me that was uncomfortable with myself. I always imagined people talking about about me after I left the room, inquiring to my friends what had happened to me, like I was missing an arm or something. "Oh, you mean you don't know about the accident?"
But I've come to a new place of acceptance, for the first time in my life. There was no accident. I refuse to any longer be sorry for myself, and though my hands have ten fingers I could point at others for the rest of my days, I am proud that for the first time in my life a few months ago that I began to finally instead make a fist with them, like Rocky, and take a stand. If you will recall from Rocky 3, the real enemy he had to face, was his own fear. To look oneself in the mirror and not be ashamed of what you see has been a test I have struggled with for years, but I am finally learning to face these old pictures of my mouth as an enemy that with the help of you all, my fans, that I feel I am in constant training to overcome. The ironic part, is that though my words often dance in and out of metaphors in everyday speech, of movies and reality and everything in between, I couldn't help but find significance in the fact that when I first began to share the story with the world of this epic battle I was about to face upon my return to Phoenix a few months ago, suddenly, two more "Rockys" entered my life. The first, as you all know by now, is my wonderful student dentist I ended up with, Rakhee Patel, that with each new appointment feels like my coach and tag team partner as we each knock out another few rounds toward that final championship smile, so far away but so well on our way to the finish. The second, though only somewhat of an acquaintance in the past, Rocky Yazzi, happened to read my story on facebook at the perfect time when he needed a little inspiration I guess, and a reminder that all of us in our own ways were suffering, but it's whether we choose to do it together and ask for help, or doom ourselves to lives of isolation and self-pity, that makes all the difference. This is of course, only me speaking.
Rocky recently recorded this song and video before moving out of his home and saying goodbye to parts of his past. If you listen closely you can hear how his compassion for my current predicament inspired the second verse.
Rocky is throwing me a benefit this Wednesday night in San Francisco's Mission District at the El Rio if any of you happen to be in that area.
http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=153236068069644
I have a few more weeks before my next appointment, but I presume my other Rakhee is home training for her presentation on me due very soon.Thank you both, for all of your continued inspiration and for always being in my corner during this fight. Here is one more cheesy video, dedicated to all of us:
On the bike tour this past fall for several weeks I was sad that among all of my endless precautionary items for every emergency that I packed, one of the main lapses in judgment I seemed to space out on was, well, the inclusion of a soundtrack for my adventure. As Pinar and I biked on and on, I began to get a little bitter, honestly, that she had brought an mp3 player and was lost in song somewhere ahead of me, while I had only my thoughts to listen to. Sometimes that can be good, others...not so much. One thing is for certain however, and that is during times of intense physical challenges, upbeat and/or aggressive music can work wonders at helping you to find the strength to overcome whatever obstacles are in front of you, whether that be a giant hill, another ten miles before sunset, or the ability to ignore the cold chill in your bones in the morning. The day that I finally gave in and bought an mp3 player at a Walmart, it should be no shocker to anyone who knows me that one of the first albums I downloaded was the best of the Rocky soundtracks. Pedaling off down the road from the Fred Meyer parking lot that day, listening to "Eye of the Tiger" for the first time in months was a communion with my inner child I had almost forgotten about, so wrapped up in the logistics of each day's ride. It was a reminder of a part of me that existed long before this current journey, a fearlessness I found as a kid through music that as silly as it might have seemed to some people, gave me strength that day in ways that nothing else could have.
I wrote the following in an email to a friend last October about that day:
"I was sleeping alone inside the burned out guts of a redwood tree in the middle of the first forest I met in California and it grounded me back to remember more about who i was, knowing that i could be doing all this alone right now--that, regardless of if we have a lover, best friend, adventure partner to brave the daylight with, whatever....ultimately, we are all alone each night, anyway. Being in that tree took me back to my childhood, when i spent hours and hours alone with trees, in my imagination, where every day was a game and nothing mattered. Things were so easy. I've been really nostalgic or sentimental or whatever on this trip, thinking of my childhood. Riding bikes, playing in nature, every day always worked out. A snickers bar on the table when i got home from school, Hulk Hogan on TV and everyone a hero in my head.
In the end, you have to be your own hero. You have to love yourself. You have to know that you are capable of anything and look forward to those challenges, not be frustrated. We keep downloading silly adventure movies in cafes along the way that we watch while camping. Goonies, Indiana Jones, The Matrix, Star Wars....they only seem to prove this point.
The Rocky soundtrack isn't what gets me over hills. It's not a challenge to myself to be like Rocky, it's a challenge to myself, to be like ME. To stop hiding, to stop being afraid, and to let the deepest most inner secret parts of me, fears and bullshit and all, out for the world to see. Throw it all on the table each day and risk my comfort and sanity to be passionate and inspiring to others, to elevate us all higher into one euphoric dreamlike consciousness where we know and believe that we can ALL be superheros--we can all find, create, and nurture happiness in ourselves and others. We can all kindle our adventurous spirits and find our inner Macguyvers or Indiana Jones. We are all Goonies. We can all have fun...
I'm still learning this. or developing it, like a magic trick, perfecting, to every day become a more powerful and clever wizard to pull the wool over people's eyes just for a moment before pulling it back again and showing them that there are in fact, no strings. This is the way that it is. This is the way that you can live as well."
My "eye of the tiger" however would immediately lose its fire shortly after I mounted my new stereo on my bike
staring at myself in the bathroom of that cafe that afternoon, feeling completely alone and powerless. Shortly before that moment, as my best friend was dancing outside on the phone, having just received word over the phone that she had gotten accepted into the college of her dreams, I could not have been on a further planet, emotionally, as I wrote these words in my journal:
It is hard now, to think back to how I felt that day. Though it has been over five months now, I am still haunted by the intense feeling of loss I felt that day. Though she held me as I cried myself to sleep that night in our tent on the beach, my mind could not have been further away. My problem that night, every night for years, was not one that love or hugs alone could fix.
We had been to hell and back on a hundred different horses it had seemed over the past year of adventures together, with my shoulders more often than not hefting a lot of the burden. But on this day, finally, it was written all over my broken face that things would simply not be the same. Though we may have rolled across the Golden Gate Bridge together, the fact that our own internal struggles were very different could not have been more clear. Now, more than ever, I knew that the only real obstacle in my life to my own success and happiness was myself. To find my Apollo Creed I need look no further than my own mouth. The real battle I had left Phoenix with my closest friend to face, and left New York even 5 years before, was one with myself, over the regrets of my past.
All I had wanted for years was to have a big climax of my movie like in Good Will Hunting and cry on someone's shoulder while they tell me "It's not your fault," and to somehow be okay with it, and move on. I still never was granted that wish, and I think I have also reached a point where I don't care anymore. I can't blame my parents or my family my whole life any more than I can blame my friends for not being mind-readers. I used to always think that if my friends never asked me about my teeth that it must have meant that they were uncomfortable with me. It never once occurred to me that maybe they didn't know my secret because I went to such great lengths to hide it, and it was in fact only me that was uncomfortable with myself. I always imagined people talking about about me after I left the room, inquiring to my friends what had happened to me, like I was missing an arm or something. "Oh, you mean you don't know about the accident?"
But I've come to a new place of acceptance, for the first time in my life. There was no accident. I refuse to any longer be sorry for myself, and though my hands have ten fingers I could point at others for the rest of my days, I am proud that for the first time in my life a few months ago that I began to finally instead make a fist with them, like Rocky, and take a stand. If you will recall from Rocky 3, the real enemy he had to face, was his own fear. To look oneself in the mirror and not be ashamed of what you see has been a test I have struggled with for years, but I am finally learning to face these old pictures of my mouth as an enemy that with the help of you all, my fans, that I feel I am in constant training to overcome. The ironic part, is that though my words often dance in and out of metaphors in everyday speech, of movies and reality and everything in between, I couldn't help but find significance in the fact that when I first began to share the story with the world of this epic battle I was about to face upon my return to Phoenix a few months ago, suddenly, two more "Rockys" entered my life. The first, as you all know by now, is my wonderful student dentist I ended up with, Rakhee Patel, that with each new appointment feels like my coach and tag team partner as we each knock out another few rounds toward that final championship smile, so far away but so well on our way to the finish. The second, though only somewhat of an acquaintance in the past, Rocky Yazzi, happened to read my story on facebook at the perfect time when he needed a little inspiration I guess, and a reminder that all of us in our own ways were suffering, but it's whether we choose to do it together and ask for help, or doom ourselves to lives of isolation and self-pity, that makes all the difference. This is of course, only me speaking.
Rocky recently recorded this song and video before moving out of his home and saying goodbye to parts of his past. If you listen closely you can hear how his compassion for my current predicament inspired the second verse.
Rocky is throwing me a benefit this Wednesday night in San Francisco's Mission District at the El Rio if any of you happen to be in that area.
http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=153236068069644
I have a few more weeks before my next appointment, but I presume my other Rakhee is home training for her presentation on me due very soon.Thank you both, for all of your continued inspiration and for always being in my corner during this fight. Here is one more cheesy video, dedicated to all of us:
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Fundraiser #1 Vegan Dinner Party @ Mario's
So this past weekend as Art Detour was winding down, I organized a big vegan dinner party with my friend and old housemate Mario Etsitty, much like his infamous First Friday after after parties, minus an after, perhaps. I met with him several days beforehand and worked on a list of meal ideas and ingredients to begin shopping for in preparation, and lo and behold another friend of mine took it upon herself to tweet it out to the universe and got virtually the entire list donated! (Thanks again, Reva and friends. She ALSO took me to Costco and let me stock up on pudding and yogurt and frozen fruit for my ongoing pouty "smooth" food months.)
Thanks also to Alia for helping me transport all this food and borrow her car to pick up a few remaining items at the last minute. Sunday was a really exhausting day of baking 150 peanut butter chocolate chip cookies
cleaning and setting up and prepping food--I actually got I think the first blister ever from chopping vegetables! I blame it on using different-handled knives from my own. We ended up starting a little later than predicted, but it was a good turnout after all. Thanks to everyone who braved the windstorm and held onto the tent outside for dear life and helped break down so quickly! And thanks to all of you who came. Thanks Alex for bringing some burros--one of the last people to come by, Nathan, was totally excited that there was still a half of one left. It was great to see everyone, many of you I don't think actually having often been in one context with so many other people from my different little circles. Thanks Kristi and Kristy for coming all the way from GLOBE! Thanks Virginia for making all those little cupcakes that everyone was raving over the whole night. Thanks anyone else I'm forgetting, and of course Mario for always humbling my meager chef ego in his presence and always knowing exactly what to cut and stir when it seems to pull a party off in the nick of time. Haha. Thanks to everyone's donations I raised $321, which totally covered the cost of Tuesday's appointment of three more extractions! Here are a few pictures I snapped that night:
Thanks for helping to contribute to the first of what I hope will be many exciting and diverse fundraisers over the coming months, and for helping me to continue to pay for treatments. For the record, I am currently about $1,800 ahead of my appointments, which will only help me to add more momentum to the more costly procedures once I get my 4 remaining extractions and fix the teeth I have over the next month or so. At this rate, I may just pull this all off this year!
Thanks also to Alia for helping me transport all this food and borrow her car to pick up a few remaining items at the last minute. Sunday was a really exhausting day of baking 150 peanut butter chocolate chip cookies
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| Here is a view of our spread of food Sunday night. |
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| This is the huge pot of curry we made. |
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| And here we have gluten-free spaghetti with marinara sauce. |
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| Here are Virginia's huge pile of cupcakes, fraternizing with my gluten-free peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. |
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| Here is a close-up of the salsa I made. |
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| And here we have 3 gallons of homemade Sangria! |
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| Here is Mario, looking for teeth under the many pillows in the house! |
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| And Ian, trying to spread more fairy dust! |
(Anyone else have anymore pictures?)
Thanks also to Hans and Becca and Nate for helping to pack up everything so we could take the leftovers to my work. Little did you all know that by supporting me, as it turned out, you would also be providing and awesome meal and a ton of cookies for homeless youth the next day at the Tumbleweed Drop In Center! So thank you all on behalf of our kids and staff as well :-) Thanks for helping to contribute to the first of what I hope will be many exciting and diverse fundraisers over the coming months, and for helping me to continue to pay for treatments. For the record, I am currently about $1,800 ahead of my appointments, which will only help me to add more momentum to the more costly procedures once I get my 4 remaining extractions and fix the teeth I have over the next month or so. At this rate, I may just pull this all off this year!
I found some old writing from journals I wanted to share.
Both of these entries are from Februrary 4 years ago, shortly before I came to Phoenix. I'd like to add, that if the time of deepest physical pain from my teeth over the past several years has always been during times when I was also sick or worn out from lack of sleep or stressed, so my body's immune system is distracted by fighting other things than infected teeth, that often in my life the time of biggest MENTAL pain has been when I've felt alone, without a supportive community of people to talk to or friends to share with. When I wrote these words, I had recently left NY to travel for the 4th time in a year, and had been staying in a basement for a month in the middle of winter in Ann Arbor with my friend Jeremiah I had met in Portland, every day feeling more and more like I had no one to communicate with but myself. I saved enough money from stencil art commissions a few weeks later to take another chance and risk spending the majority of my earnings on a bus ticket to Phoenix, where I only knew one person via the internet for several years whom I'd never met. (Rikki) I came here, starting over again, with $15 to my name, hopeful that perhaps my magic "answer" of how I could change my life and find happiness and success might finally surface here after passing through nearly half of the other 50 states over the previous year of couchsurfing while surviving off of art. Though these words happened to come out during those lonely, 13 degree depressing days in Michigan, I nonetheless carried them with me always in the back of my mind over the past several years, pulling them out of hiding in my thoughts with every awkward attempt at a smile throughout my days. I can happily update this first entry however, with the new information that I do in fact finally HAVE dental records, not to mention a perfect model probably still in Rakhee's messy locker of my mouth so in case anything terrible were to happen to me, I could finally actually be identified for the first time in my life. Thanks Rakhee! Haha, I know, I give the most ridiculously unique compliments, huh?
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| Don't support "Billy Bob" teeth, or buying all of these wretched costumes that mock people with poor dental hygiene. Furthermore, "white trash" is a derogatory term no less hateful and offensive than "nigger" or "spick" or "cunt" or any other racist or sexist term. I would argue that most of these words have their roots in classism anyway, all translating to mean that one person is "less than" another. I beg of you to hold your tongues if you get the inkling to utter such words, so that others can simply smile, and not feel like their teeth are not "good enough" to do so. |
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| I am beginning to finally find the confidence to remove words like "never" from my vocabulary and replace them with others, like "hope." In the words of Helen Keller, "Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing." I most certainly choose to embrace the journey, enjoy the ride, and live my own fucking movie, be my own hero. I encourage you all to do the same. |
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