I’ve always been pretty fortunate when it came to my physical health. I’ve never broken a bone, only sprained something once, and passed all necessary tests to prove I was healthy — something I used to take for granted.
This reality came crashing down the summer before my sophomore year of college, the start so vividly ingrained in my mind. I was at my summer job and there was always that awkward time between lunch and early dinner when nobody would come in, so we had to find ways to keep ourselves entertained. Shamefully this was frequent bathroom breaks to check my phone, for that few-minute serotonin boost that would last me a good 30 minutes before I was bored once again.
I remember looking at myself in the mirror, and while I don’t remember what prompted me to do so, I tried to smile. This is when I realized that something was wrong. The left corner of my mouth was stuck in its resting position, while the right curled up with ease.
“Something is wrong with my lip, it’s so swollen on one side, and I don’t know why”
“It looks crazy when I smile”
I took a photo and sent it to my mom, along with those messages.
She immediately told me that she and my dad were going to stop by work to check on me. I felt like this was a bit excessive, but at the same time, something in me didn’t want to put up a fight.
When I met my parents I could tell that something about this was familiar to them, but I didn’t know why. I guess I chalked it up to the fact that I like to assume they know everything, making me feel so safe around them.
After some time and a lot of convincing, my mom got me to leave work early to come home. At this point, I assumed it was an allergic reaction and was reassured by the idea that it would most likely be gone in the morning. It would be easily moved on from.
The next morning I woke up only to see that this was still a reality, but it looked like it was getting worse. My dad put me through a multitude of tests, puffing out my cheeks, puckering my lips, trying to blow up a balloon, a weird combination of movements that suddenly felt difficult. I had never thought so much about how to control my face, and in conclusion, we decided it was best to go to urgent care.
That’s when I heard it for the first time — bell’s palsy. I had no idea what that was and as the doctor began to explain this to me, I felt my heart sink into my stomach. Essentially bell’s palsy is temporary paralysis, or weakness in the facial muscles, on one side and occurs when the facial nerve becomes inflamed or damaged. There are still a lot of unknowns when it comes to the cause, so the first recommendation was a blood test.
I have an insane fear of needles, so this sent me into a full-blown panic, in addition to the news I had just received. My mom sensed this and allowed me the chance to do the blood work the next day.
I won’t lie, those next few days were a blur. I was so overwhelmed by emotions I had never felt before, in addition to becoming extremely self-conscious about how I looked. I began to self-isolate and was unable to talk about my feelings as I felt like nobody could understand fully.
Looking in the mirror became an obsession, as I was hoping for the time that I would see myself as I used to. About a week later, I started feeling similarly to how I had felt that first day, but this time, on the right side of my face. As I had been in fight or flight mode for the past week, my mind immediately went to the worst possibility, assuming that it was now happening on the other side. My parents tried to reassure me that both sides were rare for bells and that I had nothing to worry about. However, this unfortunately became a reality and a rarity.
After we had realized the severity of what was happening we decided to go to the hospital. This consisted of the most comprehensive medical workup I had ever received in my life. So much bloodwork, an IV consistently in my arm, an MRI, a spinal tap, regular vital checks, and overnight stays. I was terrified.
In the end, everything came back clean. There was nothing that they could find that had caused the bilateral bell’s palsy. They kept telling me that it was so rare, I don’t know if that was an attempt to make me feel better, but at that point, I was so numb to everything.
This all happened a few weeks before I was supposed to come back to Boulder, move into my first apartment with my best friends, and start my sophomore year. Something in me knew that I had to come back, regardless of the state of my face. I like to think that this was motivated by what happened the day after I was discharged. I woke up that morning and noticed that the left side of my face didn’t feel as heavy as it had. And that day that I had hoped for, where I could look in the mirror and see a sense of normalcy, occurred. But it only happened on one side. My left side came back to normal completely that same day, giving me a sense of hope that maybe the right side was on its way back too.
I went back to school a few weeks later, even though the right side of my face still hadn’t come back. I had to explain to friends, teachers, and classmates the reality of what had happened, and I spent every day hoping for another strike of normalcy.
The right side of my face, while still not what I consider to be the same, mimics the left, and gives the impression that nothing ever happened. However I still carry this weight with me every day. While it’s not as heavy as it used to be, I still feel it, lingering as it has now become a part of me and my story.
I don’t share the same luck that I once used to, but I’ve used it to help me carry myself, and realize that this is just one of the things that makes me who I am, and makes me beautiful in my own way. And I’m pretty damn okay with that.