It happened the day I thought I had my life together.
I had completed my new, post-cancer morning & evening self-care routines- three hours’ worth of yoga, strength, breath work, journaling, and more- and was so excited to move forward with my clean slate. “Look at me,” I remember thinking. “I’m on the upswing, feeling good, cancer-free, and will be returning to work in two weeks!” Famous last thoughts.
That evening, while laying on the couch and watching a movie with my husband and my son, I became aware of the fact that I couldn’t blink my right eye, and that it was watering like crazy. I stood up and went to a mirror- and saw that not only did my right eye not close, but the right side of my mouth was drooping and could not smile or move. “You’ve GOT to be kidding me,” I thought.
And then it dawned on us that I was possibly having a stroke. I called our advice nurse and jumped in the car to go to the ER.
It wasn’t a stroke. That was the good news. But Bell’s palsy is a facial paralysis of idiopathic nature. Meaning, they don’t know what brings it on. But it’s often caused by stress, fatigue, being immunocompromised, or by a virus. In my case, probably some combination of most or all of those as my body recuperated from chemo and surgery.
I was told that light cases of Bell‘s Palsy could resolve in 2 to 3 weeks and more significant cases could take 3 to 9 months. Ever the optimist, (can one will their facial nerves to move? If so, I’ll do it!) I focused on the idea of 2 to 3 weeks and met with a physical therapist who specialized in facial movement. She let me know that there wasn’t much to be done until the nerve decided to start firing on its own. Until then I could use warm compresses and do acupuncture. And red light therapy couldn’t hurt.
So I added these to my daily & weekly routines. I became an acupuncture connoisseur, going 2-3 times each week.
I was surprised to find that Bell’s Palsy felt more depressing and lonelier than going through chemo. For the first month, it was hard to even speak (and ironically, it was very hard to say the B in “Bells” and the P in “Palsy” as I was explaining my situation to people. I’ve decided whomever named it had an evil sense of humor). And I’m normally quick to laugh, but a big smile immediately feels weird and “pulls” your face to the unaffected side. Which means joy turns to frustration in an instant.
Eating was also frustrating. I gained a healthy appreciation for all the behind-the-scenes work the tongue and inner cheek do while we eat, since mine weren’t functional on one side. Similarly, drinking was a disaster; my coffee mug looked like a crime scene… and don’t get me started on using a straw.
The biggest impact was that it affected my “good eye “ (the one with much better vision). With Bells Palsy, you can’t close your eye all the way as the top lid doesn’t go all the way down and the bottom lid doesn’t tighten upwards. Therefore the eye is perpetually dry and you have to constantly use eye drops and ointment, which makes everything blurry. That means it’s hard to read. It’s hard to watch TV. It’s hard to even see your to do list.
The only thing I could do that didn’t bother my eye or mouth- and that brought me some level of peace- was yoga. Even going for my usual walks was complicated because any wind (hello, San Francisco) bothered my eye. I had to wear a clear single goggle when outdoors, which always makes one look & feel cool and trendy…
At three weeks with no real progress, my doctor and I decided to schedule a CT scan to make sure the cancer hadn’t metastasized to my brain. The ideal scan would have been an MRI, but since my post-mastectomy tissue expander contained metal, this wasn’t an option. A CT scan could show potential problem areas, but if it did, I would still need an MRI to distinguish if it was cancer. So, we decided to opt for the CT scan as a start. I was beyond relieved to get the results that there was completely normal brain structure and no need for the MRI.
At four weeks out, I was able to squint my eye a little bit and clench my smile a bit. At six weeks out, I could fully blink, albeit delayed in comparison to my other eye. Now, at 2.5 months, I can smirk on the right side and start to raise my right eyebrow. Friends and family tell me that in regular conversation you almost can’t notice it. It’s when I laugh, or when someone takes a photo, that it’s very obvious. So now all photos of me have a serious face or my hand covering the affected side of my mouth (see below).
Overall, Bells Palsy is a pretty demoralizing affliction. It is hard to look at yourself and feel like, well, yourself. I’ve learned over the last two months to be more patient and gentle with myself than ever before. And I’m just chalking it up to another challenge of this year. But the year ends soon… take note, Bell’s Palsy, your time is nearly up.
Find yourself some dear friends who don’t care about your serious face in a silly photo.