At the tender age of eight I was initiated as an acolyte of the dread goddess Orthodontia, and I was molded under her tutelage for the following seven years of my young life. The manipulation of teeth was a central theme of my childhood, and to this day I can visualize every detail of the clinic, every mile of the drive there and back – I can trace the outlines of phantom implements long gone from my choppers.
One of the things that I remember is the time they were analysing an xray of my head, presumably in an attempt to determine how much trouble my future wisdom teeth would eventually cause. The orthodontist pointed to one of many large black smudges and told my parents that I had abnormally large sinuses. That meant less to me than it did my dad, who knew someone who had had his nose temporarily removed during sinus surgery, but I think the discussion addressed things like whether I was a mouth breather (I was) and whether I played a wind instrument (not yet). The orthodontist also touched on the subject of future problems with my sinuses, but I honestly can’t remember if the scope of my skull-hollows was supposed to bode well or ill for my adult relationship with congestion.
Little did I know that I had already experienced what the future held for me. As a small child – old enough to know better, little enough to forget – I had been lying on a sofa drinking Coke through a straw. Something went wrong – a cough, a hiccup – and next thing I knew I had Coke burning its way through my nose.
And my tear ducts.
And my ears.
Nothing (well, not nothing, but few things) feels worse than carbonated cola being forced at high velocity through foreign channels. I thought I was going to die, and not just from choking.
I would later come to realize that my enlarged sinus cavities provided for all kinds of inappropriate diversions of misdirected fluid. Sadly, I have yet to put this to good use, such as being able to smoke a cigarette and blow smoke out my ears. (Then again, I only recently figured out how to raise a single eyebrow, so there is hope for me yet!) My childhood was punctuated with episodes wherein one beverage or another escaped through my eye sockets. Memorably (and that “memorably” would certainly be prefaced with “unfortunately,” were it not a crime against nature to use a double adverb) I once suffered the indignity of barfing through my tear ducts, learning in the process that vomit was in fact more acidic than Coca Cola.
I have always been an overachiever. Any kid can have barf come out his nose.
Recently, my prodigious cavities developed a new trick. About a year ago, I began having real trouble blowing my nose. I was a late bloomer in the nose-blowing category, not really mastering the good ol’ nose-trumpet until midway through high school, but since then I really have been a master. It’s hard, however, to really devote your full energies to dislodging nose sediment when you know snot is going to come out your eyes.
“Welcome to the Freak Show, ladies and germs. Step right up and witness the Amazing Phlegm Girl! Stand back, kids, she shoots snot out her eyeballs….”
Okay, I don’t shoot anything anywhere. No one would ever know that my noseblowing efforts had the unfortunate side effect of forcing a layer of thin mucus into my eye, blurring my vision and creating sticky tears. Although, come to think of it, shooting snot out my eyes might be a handy trick in and of itself. Talk about your party tricks!
It’s not as gross as it sounds, and it doesn’t happen every time, but when I’ve been blowing my nose a lot (think cold season) something inside my head weakens and opens up the hatches. The whole “snotty eyeball” thing is something I’ve come to accept.
Is it too much to ask, then, that that be the extent of my sinus weirdness? Is it necessary that the Amazing Phlegm Girl also be subjected to her own private symphony of creaks, whistles, gurgles, whines, and pops as the goo in her cranium shifts and settles? Must the air pressure that fails to shoot snot out nostril or tear duct make its way to the ear, causing short-term hearing loss and dizziness? Is this just?
Apparently the answer is yes, yes, yes, and yes.
