P
Phyllis
Bob, this is almost better than the non-stop reading I have been doing on my recently acquired Kindle- you know they let you publish your own book on the Kindle- maybe you ought to consider it! I sure hope this has a happy ending!!
ENT: The Nose Out Of Joint Saga
- Thread starter tobagotwo
- Start date
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Oh, but it ain't done yet... 
I can hardly wait for the next chapter. Hope you have a wonderful recovery.
Earline
Earline
Bob-you have reminded me of my own experience of nearly twenty years ago--when I was on a gurney headed for exploratory surgery and figured out on my own-with the remarkable mind focusing abilities of impending surgery-why the fingers in my right hand had gone numb.
These people can be great, but the patient better be on his toes.
I can't wait for the next installment. This deserves a genre name of it's own, like we do for romance or mystery writing.
These people can be great, but the patient better be on his toes.
I can't wait for the next installment. This deserves a genre name of it's own, like we do for romance or mystery writing.
Glenda
Well-known member
Oh Bob, you are too funny! What can I say? I can't wait for the story to continue and find out what else happens to you! It's like a book I can't put down. GET WELL QUICK! !
hensylee
Well-known member
enjoying every single word.
I received the following in my Knowledgment News:
Discovery of the Week
What the Nose Knows
More than you imagined
Pop quiz:
What is the Proust effect?
And how does it affect your brain?
If you know your neuroscience (or your literary history), you know that the "Proust effect" names the experience of a particular smell triggering a strong memory--as smells are wont to do in the works of French novelist Marcel Proust.
Proust knew--and neuroscientists agree--that the nose has a deep connection to memory. In fact, a new study suggests that connection may run deeper than anyone imagined. How deep? Deep enough that you may want to follow your nose.
Emotional Connection
Along with conjuring memories, smells can trigger strong emotions. So, for this study, scientists wanted to figure out whether emotions can actually enhance your sense of smell. Evidently, they can.
Researchers first had test subjects sniff three containers of laboratory chemicals. Two of the three held the same substance. The third held a different substance which, to the untrained nose, smelled the same. When asked to pick which container held the unique substance, the subjects chose correctly just one time in three--no better than chance.
But then the scientists amped up the emotions connected to their test subjects' experience--by giving some of them mild electric shocks when they sniffed the unique substance. When the scientists then gave their subjects a new "name-that-smell" test, the "shocked" folks could correctly identify the unique substance 70 percent of the time.
Olfactory Workers
In effect, the test subjects had learned to smell danger where at first they smelled no difference. And it wasn't just that their nostrils were flaring. Brain scans showed that olfactory centers in the shocked subjects' brains fired differently during post-shock sniffing. A little threat helped their brains detect previously unperceivable differences.
This isn't the only recent study to suggest that our noses know more than we knew. In 2006, researchers found that humans can follow a scent trail the same way bloodhounds do (though our canine companions are much, much better at it than we are). And in 2004, smell experts Richard Axel and Linda Buck won a Nobel Prize for their work on olfaction.
They showed how a family of 1,000 genes gives rise to 1,000 different types of olfactory receptors, which let your nose and brain recognize and remember 10,000 different smells. That sensational skill makes your life much richer--whether you're enjoying the smells of spring, or learning that the odor of certain laboratory chemicals is downright shocking.
--Steve Sampson
I received the following in my Knowledgment News:
Discovery of the Week
What the Nose Knows
More than you imagined
Pop quiz:
What is the Proust effect?
And how does it affect your brain?
If you know your neuroscience (or your literary history), you know that the "Proust effect" names the experience of a particular smell triggering a strong memory--as smells are wont to do in the works of French novelist Marcel Proust.
Proust knew--and neuroscientists agree--that the nose has a deep connection to memory. In fact, a new study suggests that connection may run deeper than anyone imagined. How deep? Deep enough that you may want to follow your nose.
Emotional Connection
Along with conjuring memories, smells can trigger strong emotions. So, for this study, scientists wanted to figure out whether emotions can actually enhance your sense of smell. Evidently, they can.
Researchers first had test subjects sniff three containers of laboratory chemicals. Two of the three held the same substance. The third held a different substance which, to the untrained nose, smelled the same. When asked to pick which container held the unique substance, the subjects chose correctly just one time in three--no better than chance.
But then the scientists amped up the emotions connected to their test subjects' experience--by giving some of them mild electric shocks when they sniffed the unique substance. When the scientists then gave their subjects a new "name-that-smell" test, the "shocked" folks could correctly identify the unique substance 70 percent of the time.
Olfactory Workers
In effect, the test subjects had learned to smell danger where at first they smelled no difference. And it wasn't just that their nostrils were flaring. Brain scans showed that olfactory centers in the shocked subjects' brains fired differently during post-shock sniffing. A little threat helped their brains detect previously unperceivable differences.
This isn't the only recent study to suggest that our noses know more than we knew. In 2006, researchers found that humans can follow a scent trail the same way bloodhounds do (though our canine companions are much, much better at it than we are). And in 2004, smell experts Richard Axel and Linda Buck won a Nobel Prize for their work on olfaction.
They showed how a family of 1,000 genes gives rise to 1,000 different types of olfactory receptors, which let your nose and brain recognize and remember 10,000 different smells. That sensational skill makes your life much richer--whether you're enjoying the smells of spring, or learning that the odor of certain laboratory chemicals is downright shocking.
--Steve Sampson
Bob,
I havn't been around much lately, got a few problems of my own.
Glad to hear you are on the road to recovery.
I really enjoyed reading all your posts regarding this saga, you should consider writing for a new TV reality program, you sure have the talent.
Now will you be posting pictures for us?
Rich
I havn't been around much lately, got a few problems of my own.
Glad to hear you are on the road to recovery.
I really enjoyed reading all your posts regarding this saga, you should consider writing for a new TV reality program, you sure have the talent.
Now will you be posting pictures for us?
Rich
ENT: The Nose Out Of Joint Saga VIII
ENT: The Nose Out Of Joint Saga VIII
I begin my recovery by calling my GP, to ensure they are aware of the BP machine SNAFU at the surgicenter. I explain it to the person at the desk. She says, ?Uh-huh, uh-huh,? and then, ?He wants to see you this week.? I love the way the medical profession listens. I say, ?Sure,? but I know that?s not going to happen. I have no guilt about this, because they simply discounted what I was telling them. Besides, between recovery and picking up what I?ll miss at work, I don?t see an immediate opening in my schedule.
Orders are that I?m not to strain, bend over, or in any way raise the blood pressure at the level of my sensitive beak. I?m absolutely not to blow my nose. I?m not to start taking any 81mg aspirin again yet, nor anything else that might start an unruly septal bleed.
I have Ultram for pain and SpectraCEF to deal with any infection possibilities. I have a recliner, a TV, and access to the fridge. I also have a leaky proboscis. I have switched from the gauze taped under my nose to an unending supply of bulk-discount-store Kleenex. I am tired, annoyed at the medical community, artificially congested, but generally okay. I pass the remainder of the day between pain pills and television.
I sleep fairly well, considering that there seem to be several brain-eating aliens living in my septal areas. I have seen them in science fiction horror movies. They are fat, slug-like creatures that can be seen stretching the nose impossibly and moving under the skin toward the victim?s unprotected brain. I take this as a sign that the pain pills should be avoided too close to bedtime.
I do awaken several times, and dutifully spray my nose with nasal saline solution. I?m not sure how far it gets up there, but it seems adequate, as it fills up my nose and pours down my face freely. I have bought a special can of pressurized nose saline spray. It has a tricky and somewhat sticky valve. It frequently won?t spray if you press it at even a slightly wrong angle, making use somewhat tentative. Fortunately, I discover that it does seem to spray quite impressively after being removed from the left nostril, liberally dosing the unsuspecting left eye with blindness-inducing saltiness even after the spray button is released.
Unnoticed is the decorative effect it has also had on the bathroom mirror and the wall. This will only become apparent in the morning sunlight, when the overspray has dried to whitish arcs of crusted salts.
When I awaken on Friday, I will have only four days until my post-surgical visit. This part may be easier that I expected.
ENT: The Nose Out Of Joint Saga VIII
I begin my recovery by calling my GP, to ensure they are aware of the BP machine SNAFU at the surgicenter. I explain it to the person at the desk. She says, ?Uh-huh, uh-huh,? and then, ?He wants to see you this week.? I love the way the medical profession listens. I say, ?Sure,? but I know that?s not going to happen. I have no guilt about this, because they simply discounted what I was telling them. Besides, between recovery and picking up what I?ll miss at work, I don?t see an immediate opening in my schedule.
Orders are that I?m not to strain, bend over, or in any way raise the blood pressure at the level of my sensitive beak. I?m absolutely not to blow my nose. I?m not to start taking any 81mg aspirin again yet, nor anything else that might start an unruly septal bleed.
I have Ultram for pain and SpectraCEF to deal with any infection possibilities. I have a recliner, a TV, and access to the fridge. I also have a leaky proboscis. I have switched from the gauze taped under my nose to an unending supply of bulk-discount-store Kleenex. I am tired, annoyed at the medical community, artificially congested, but generally okay. I pass the remainder of the day between pain pills and television.
I sleep fairly well, considering that there seem to be several brain-eating aliens living in my septal areas. I have seen them in science fiction horror movies. They are fat, slug-like creatures that can be seen stretching the nose impossibly and moving under the skin toward the victim?s unprotected brain. I take this as a sign that the pain pills should be avoided too close to bedtime.
I do awaken several times, and dutifully spray my nose with nasal saline solution. I?m not sure how far it gets up there, but it seems adequate, as it fills up my nose and pours down my face freely. I have bought a special can of pressurized nose saline spray. It has a tricky and somewhat sticky valve. It frequently won?t spray if you press it at even a slightly wrong angle, making use somewhat tentative. Fortunately, I discover that it does seem to spray quite impressively after being removed from the left nostril, liberally dosing the unsuspecting left eye with blindness-inducing saltiness even after the spray button is released.
Unnoticed is the decorative effect it has also had on the bathroom mirror and the wall. This will only become apparent in the morning sunlight, when the overspray has dried to whitish arcs of crusted salts.
When I awaken on Friday, I will have only four days until my post-surgical visit. This part may be easier that I expected.
ENT: The Nose Out Of Joint Saga IX
ENT: The Nose Out Of Joint Saga IX
The first harbingers of the real recovery process begin to appear with the weak, early Spring sun in the morning. I have a tight spot under my ribs on the left side, somewhat annoying. It causes me to cough if I take a really full breath (which I do, because I am mindful of lung issues from anesthesia). It’s been there since the surgery. Or has it? I practice forcing full breaths and straight posture.
There seems to be some minor irritation under my nose. It has just begun to annoy me, but it’s rapidly becoming a critical source of raw pain. I review the Kohl’s-size shopping bag of tissues from the prior day, and realize with a rush of despair the error of my ways. I have already rubbed my nose raw, and it’s only the first full day. I’m in deep trouble, sliding toward the abyss of I-did-this-to-myself recriminations.
I think it’s time for a pain pill. The false contentment will do me good. However, as I have started in a funk, it’s making me more maudlin than carefree. I learn another lesson: never mix perfectly good drugs with self-mortification. TV, the universal pacifier, takes more concentration than I can maintain. I finally doze in the recliner, thinking to myself that time is the key, if I just find a way to let time pass, the bad things will go away.
I awaken to some annoyance inside my face. I realize that the packing is rubbing a bit. I immediately grab the pressurized saline canister and violently spray my left eye again, hoping the unruly liquid might go into my nostril this time. Some eventually succeeds in actually getting into my errant nose, and everything in schnozzola land is again soaked and leaking down my chin as it should be. Now I am doing a salt cleanup from the walls and mirror, before I get caught leaving a mess.
During the day, there is an irregular stream of revolting biological oddities emanating from my renovated olfactory orifice. Some are the anticipated blood clots, and there are occasionally bits of something less identifiable, causing brief moments of curiosity and introspection. This isn’t something someone normally experiences, tissue in hand, so I am again reminded that I’m on opiates.
I am jetting water up my nose from a variety of sources. The septal packing is getting fully wet, but it’s starting to subtly rub around in there. It’s annoying, but not yet painful. I also feel incredibly congested, for which the packing is in no small part to blame. I can’t smell or taste anything. What was I thinking when I bought those apples?
My wife has looked at me oddly a couple of times this evening. She’s also been scouting for something around my chair. Possibly because I appear crabby, I think. Or maybe she wants to see if I’ve spilled anything.
This night, I don’t sleep well. The packing is irritating. I am starting to develop diarrhea, probably from the antibiotics, even though I’m taking probiotics to offset them. I still have that stitch in my left side, and I breathe better, but still get a cough reflex when I breathe in fully on that side. I have some “anesthesia sweats,” but no fever, although it hits the 100˚F mark on and off. Maybe things will be better in the morning.
ENT: The Nose Out Of Joint Saga IX
The first harbingers of the real recovery process begin to appear with the weak, early Spring sun in the morning. I have a tight spot under my ribs on the left side, somewhat annoying. It causes me to cough if I take a really full breath (which I do, because I am mindful of lung issues from anesthesia). It’s been there since the surgery. Or has it? I practice forcing full breaths and straight posture.
There seems to be some minor irritation under my nose. It has just begun to annoy me, but it’s rapidly becoming a critical source of raw pain. I review the Kohl’s-size shopping bag of tissues from the prior day, and realize with a rush of despair the error of my ways. I have already rubbed my nose raw, and it’s only the first full day. I’m in deep trouble, sliding toward the abyss of I-did-this-to-myself recriminations.
I think it’s time for a pain pill. The false contentment will do me good. However, as I have started in a funk, it’s making me more maudlin than carefree. I learn another lesson: never mix perfectly good drugs with self-mortification. TV, the universal pacifier, takes more concentration than I can maintain. I finally doze in the recliner, thinking to myself that time is the key, if I just find a way to let time pass, the bad things will go away.
I awaken to some annoyance inside my face. I realize that the packing is rubbing a bit. I immediately grab the pressurized saline canister and violently spray my left eye again, hoping the unruly liquid might go into my nostril this time. Some eventually succeeds in actually getting into my errant nose, and everything in schnozzola land is again soaked and leaking down my chin as it should be. Now I am doing a salt cleanup from the walls and mirror, before I get caught leaving a mess.
During the day, there is an irregular stream of revolting biological oddities emanating from my renovated olfactory orifice. Some are the anticipated blood clots, and there are occasionally bits of something less identifiable, causing brief moments of curiosity and introspection. This isn’t something someone normally experiences, tissue in hand, so I am again reminded that I’m on opiates.
I am jetting water up my nose from a variety of sources. The septal packing is getting fully wet, but it’s starting to subtly rub around in there. It’s annoying, but not yet painful. I also feel incredibly congested, for which the packing is in no small part to blame. I can’t smell or taste anything. What was I thinking when I bought those apples?
My wife has looked at me oddly a couple of times this evening. She’s also been scouting for something around my chair. Possibly because I appear crabby, I think. Or maybe she wants to see if I’ve spilled anything.
This night, I don’t sleep well. The packing is irritating. I am starting to develop diarrhea, probably from the antibiotics, even though I’m taking probiotics to offset them. I still have that stitch in my left side, and I breathe better, but still get a cough reflex when I breathe in fully on that side. I have some “anesthesia sweats,” but no fever, although it hits the 100˚F mark on and off. Maybe things will be better in the morning.
R
ruth
Oh Bob, you poor thing.....
Hang in there, it's all uphill from here. You like the saline spray canister, huh? Quite the invention.
All my best wishes,
Ruth
Hang in there, it's all uphill from here. You like the saline spray canister, huh? Quite the invention.
All my best wishes,
Ruth
K
Karlynn
Now I feel like I've had the surgery - can you please send me some of your pain pills????
Wishing you a speedy recovery.
Whilst on the pills, send your writing to a publisher - you could be on the NY Times Best Seller - Non-fiction list before you know it.
Wishing you a speedy recovery.
Whilst on the pills, send your writing to a publisher - you could be on the NY Times Best Seller - Non-fiction list before you know it.
R
ruth
ruth said:
DOWNHILL, I meant it's all going to be DOWNHILL from here!!!!!
I agree, I think you should seek publication with this.
Bob, I feel guilty enjoying your writing talent.....you have gone through a terrible episode and yet I eagerly await each new chapter.
Me tooBina said:Bob, I feel guilty enjoying your writing talent.....you have gone through a terrible episode and yet I eagerly await each new chapter.
Earline
S
Susan BAV
"...Nobody knows noses..."
"...Nobody knows noses..."
[edit added later - Several years ago, I took half a vicodin for pain following a surgery and subsequently realized that there were furry green monsters dancing in my closet. The last time they had invaded my home, I was a kid with an extremely high fever. I believe you are correct in that at least some pain pills should be avoided too close to bedtime. Or maybe entirely. I don't ever want to see those furry green monsters again.]
"...Nobody knows noses..."
Bob, just reading this is giving me a stitch in my side...tobagotwo said:
[edit added later - Several years ago, I took half a vicodin for pain following a surgery and subsequently realized that there were furry green monsters dancing in my closet. The last time they had invaded my home, I was a kid with an extremely high fever. I believe you are correct in that at least some pain pills should be avoided too close to bedtime. Or maybe entirely. I don't ever want to see those furry green monsters again.]
Glenda
Well-known member
Poor Bob, it's awful to be laughing so hard at your recovery, but my husband wondered why I was sitting at the computer laughing so hard that I was almost crying. Seriously you need to write a book!
S
Susan BAV
Awaiting your next in the series...
Awaiting your next in the series...
And I was blowing my nose a couple of days ago with the WRONG type of tissue--which just caused more irritation up beyond my poor nostrils--and I was wondering if your doctor had a recommendation for any particular type of tissue and/or if he recommended a nice soft cotton hanky for you? I only use regular or three-ply Kleenex brand because every other type of facial tissue I've tried has further irritated my sinus issue, whether it be from too much loose wood pulp or irritating lotions. Have you found any facial tissue/hanky more soothing than another?
Hope you're feeling better each day .
Awaiting your next in the series...
And I was blowing my nose a couple of days ago with the WRONG type of tissue--which just caused more irritation up beyond my poor nostrils--and I was wondering if your doctor had a recommendation for any particular type of tissue and/or if he recommended a nice soft cotton hanky for you? I only use regular or three-ply Kleenex brand because every other type of facial tissue I've tried has further irritated my sinus issue, whether it be from too much loose wood pulp or irritating lotions. Have you found any facial tissue/hanky more soothing than another?
Hope you're feeling better each day
.
francie12
Well-known member
I don't often laugh out loud when I'm sitting at the computer. So sorry you have to go through this, but man you make it a great story!!
ENT: The Nose Out Of Joint Saga X
ENT: The Nose Out Of Joint Saga X
I awaken without much relief. The packing has kept me up part of the night, and it’s rubbing with poignant effect on the delicate tissues inside. It’s starting to feel acidic, in a way. The congestion is worsening, and my head is beginning to be a block of pain. I am considering whether I should try a different type of pain reliever, and realize everything else I have would be less effective. This is not going the way I had planned. I’m supposed to be feeling better now.
I continue my sojourn in the recliner. I leave for brief visits to the outside world, blinking in the sunlight, scurrying back to the comforting leather in the dim cavern of the living room. I am learning to watch TV while under the influence. Reading is impossible, as I can only concentrate for a few lines at a time. My ability to think is only rudimentary now, consisting only of mental grunts and hand signals.
My wife walks by the chair on the way to the porch. She stops, looking at me in a way I’ve not seen before.
“No, it’s you,” she begins. “I though it might be something under the chair, or all of those used tissues.”
Instinctively, I clutch at Bob’s Giant Shopping Bag of Used Kleenex to protect it: no one will take this away from me without a fight.
“But I smelled it last night whenever I turned toward you. That packing in your nose is really starting to smell horrible. I can’t even stand to walk through a room when you’re in it now. And those used tissues smell like that, too, every time I walk by.”
It’s suddenly apparent to me that I’m protecting the enemy. I cleverly begin tying the top of the tissue bag, as if it had been my intent to throw it away all along. “Outside in the can, please. Don’t put it in the kitchen bag. It will stink.” I am found out before I can even rise from the chair. I pity the garbage man who dumps that can.
I am about to give her a wounded look for suspecting I would put the stinky tissues in the handy kitchen bag instead of taking them outside, but her eyes suddenly become bright. It touches me that she feels sorry for me, and I want to tell her that it’s all right. Then I realize that it’s the stench of my snout that’s actually bringing her to tears. She leaves the room quickly, with a pained expression.
Alas, I offend.
I decide I’d best sleep on the recliner until I can see the doctor on Tuesday. Maybe Monday, I think. I still have the trots. Maybe he’ll want to change my antibiotic. I still have that pulled muscle in my side, too, and the sort of uncooperative lung.
After dinner (consumed in recliner exile), I’m surprised to find I’m nauseous. I add that to my pity pile, which is actually becoming somewhat disturbing.
I sleep fitfully in the chair, the TV left callously on, volume very low.
ENT: The Nose Out Of Joint Saga X
I awaken without much relief. The packing has kept me up part of the night, and it’s rubbing with poignant effect on the delicate tissues inside. It’s starting to feel acidic, in a way. The congestion is worsening, and my head is beginning to be a block of pain. I am considering whether I should try a different type of pain reliever, and realize everything else I have would be less effective. This is not going the way I had planned. I’m supposed to be feeling better now.
I continue my sojourn in the recliner. I leave for brief visits to the outside world, blinking in the sunlight, scurrying back to the comforting leather in the dim cavern of the living room. I am learning to watch TV while under the influence. Reading is impossible, as I can only concentrate for a few lines at a time. My ability to think is only rudimentary now, consisting only of mental grunts and hand signals.
My wife walks by the chair on the way to the porch. She stops, looking at me in a way I’ve not seen before.
“No, it’s you,” she begins. “I though it might be something under the chair, or all of those used tissues.”
Instinctively, I clutch at Bob’s Giant Shopping Bag of Used Kleenex to protect it: no one will take this away from me without a fight.
“But I smelled it last night whenever I turned toward you. That packing in your nose is really starting to smell horrible. I can’t even stand to walk through a room when you’re in it now. And those used tissues smell like that, too, every time I walk by.”
It’s suddenly apparent to me that I’m protecting the enemy. I cleverly begin tying the top of the tissue bag, as if it had been my intent to throw it away all along. “Outside in the can, please. Don’t put it in the kitchen bag. It will stink.” I am found out before I can even rise from the chair. I pity the garbage man who dumps that can.
I am about to give her a wounded look for suspecting I would put the stinky tissues in the handy kitchen bag instead of taking them outside, but her eyes suddenly become bright. It touches me that she feels sorry for me, and I want to tell her that it’s all right. Then I realize that it’s the stench of my snout that’s actually bringing her to tears. She leaves the room quickly, with a pained expression.
Alas, I offend.
I decide I’d best sleep on the recliner until I can see the doctor on Tuesday. Maybe Monday, I think. I still have the trots. Maybe he’ll want to change my antibiotic. I still have that pulled muscle in my side, too, and the sort of uncooperative lung.
After dinner (consumed in recliner exile), I’m surprised to find I’m nauseous. I add that to my pity pile, which is actually becoming somewhat disturbing.
I sleep fitfully in the chair, the TV left callously on, volume very low.
K
Karlynn
Wow, I feel so badly for you. I sure hope you feel better quickly.
If your new "smell" is anything like my husband smelled after he had his tonsils out when he was 28, I feel very sorry for your wife.
If your new "smell" is anything like my husband smelled after he had his tonsils out when he was 28, I feel very sorry for your wife.
