A Pain in the Jaw

If you aren't familiar, Ashley Disease is a mysterious collection of symptoms whose only connection is that Ashley has all of them. It is characterized by headaches/migraines, nausea, lactose intolerance, non-specific pain, nose bleeds, hyper-flexible joints, teeth that eat themselves, general clumsiness, etc.

But lucky for me, I get to add a new symptom to my list. I have Temporomandibular joint disorder or TMJ (I guess it is really a bundle of symptoms, but whatever). Basically it is another one of those horribly debilitating ailments that can't be fixed. Yay.

Apparently this is something that my dentist figured I always had, but since I never complained, he never said anything. And then, almost a year ago, while getting one of those teeth that ate itself crowned in the way way back of my mouth, there was a pop and some real discomfort. But I didn't complain. Apparently, I should have because I had dislocated my jaw, which, over the next eight months would crack and pop and grind and hurt and build up loads of scar tissue in my face until I finally complained.

Since then, I have seen three specialists, gone to physical therapy on a weekly basis and been put on an all liquid diet. They have told me to try and not talk, given me loads of drugs and tried to get me to drop two grand on a mouth guard that "probably won't work."

But there was one thing that they all swore would cure me: eliminate stress. Are you effing kidding me?!?! What? Quit my job and hire a personal assistant? Too bad if I were to do that I would be stressed because I don't have a job and have to pay my personal assistant.

Comin’ at cha from the Doctor’s Office

I have some time to kill as I sit here at the doctor’s office…actually more than some time. I have a lot of time, because an 11:40 doctor’s appointment means that you get to sit amongst the other waiters in the waiting room looking at stale crispy copies of Field and Stream, Family Circle and Highlights for at least a half hour. Then the clock continues to tick as nobody is called in and the smell of spaghetti being heated up in the lunchroom reaches your nose. At which point the army of pharmaceutical reps march in with their PDAs and rollie suitcases and somehow all get to see the doctor before you. And you know what will happen next:

They will call you in and you will utter “finally” under your breath as you go in and sit on the crunchy paper. And then…you wait some more, but you are never sure how long because, like the casinos, there are no clocks in the exam room and you politely turned off your cell phone.

So until they call my name…oh they just did…too bad in the past fifteen years every parent of a blond child has decided to name it Ashley. Because I am not the Ashley they were calling, and I just had a fairly awkward moment staring down 12 year old Ashley.

Ooo…Us Magazine from November 04…I wonder if Brad is cheating on Jen…

P.S. It went pretty much like I thought…but when the man-nurse took me to get weighed…he first tried me in the 100-149 lbs. range before moving the scale to the 150 group. Silly man-nurse…you flatter me so. Anyway the scale was at least 10…closer to 20 lbs. off so my doctor thinks I weigh almost what it says on my driver’s license now and that makes the whole visit worth while.