Jaws

For the past couple of years, my jaw has clicked whenever I open my mouth. It was such a gradual thing, that I didn't realize it was occurring until friends and family would point it out. Even now, it's become so commonplace that I'm not even aware that it happens most of the time. It might even be more of a nuisance to others who eat with me and hear a frequent clicking noise; I just tune it out. It doesn't hurt, it just happens, it's one of those things that I've dealt with for so long I've never thought of it as a problem.

As I contemplate leaving the teaching profession, I've decided to use my nice insurance policy to the fullest before taking an exit. It'd be a waste not to get some free doctor visits out of my ordeal of an occupation. So I scheduled an appointment during my most precocious class, left early for the day, and spent a good deal of time in the lobby at the ear, mouth, and throat doctor. A person in the corner sobbed quietly, adding to the room's discomfort. Through several closed doors, I could hear the doctor screaming to a presumably hearing impaired patient about when ey should schedule the next appointment.

When it was finally my turn, I explained my situation. The doctor asked me to open my jaw, and even from a distance, he could hear the popping noise, which threw em into a tizzy. "Oh dear, oh dear!" he exclaimed, diagnosing me without even looking yet with a severe case of TMJ. Ey felt the joints and then started rambling about how I needed to take care of my jaw, instructing me to go on a strict liquid diet and to "choose my words wisely," making sure all of my speech is very deliberate and necessary to ensure I don't tire my jaw out. These alterations would constitute a major lifestyle change, not to mention that the notion of restricting my speech would be downright impossible as a teacher. Firstly, the kids don't listen to my instructions the first time, let alone the ninth time: not repeating myself is not an option. Secondly, yelling at kids is as important of a classroom aid as the textbook itself.

At this point, I'm choosing to ignore the doctor's orders. If I want to have a conversation, I'm going to have a conversation. If I want to eat ham for Christmas dinner, then gosh darnit I'm going to eat ham. (When the doctor first mentioned "no ham" specifically, I thought I might cry.) I fail to see how indefinitely going on a liquid diet is actually a healthy prescription, particularly when I'm not in pain and I've been ignoring the ailments for so long already anyway. If there's something legitimately wrong, I'll be waiting for the eventual MRI scan to sober me to this reality. Until then, y'all will just have to continue suffering through having to talk to me, watching me eat solid foods, and hearing my jaw click.