Here's the Answer:

I bet you can just hardly wait! The first picture was taken in September 1983 at the Homecoming dance, and the second picture was taken in February 1984 at the Jr. Prom. But, no, that is not the only difference. The difference is this: In December of 1983 I had jaw surgery to correct my terrific overbite. So Tami was very close when she said the difference was my teeth, but Stephanie wins the prize (although it seems she had some inside knowledge). On the other hand, Tami did say that I looked attractive, so maybe she wins. ;-)

From the time I was 14 until I was 18, my mouth underwent all kinds of trauma so my smile could go
from this

to this.

See, besides the excessively crooked teeth and the fangs, I had a huge overbite. I could put my forefinger sideways between my top and bottom teeth; my lower teeth touched the fleshy stuff just behind my top teeth (sometimes even cutting it) if I shut my mouth tightly. So when I got my braces in October of 1981, I also got a treatment plan that included jaw surgery. Over the next couple of years, as my teeth got straighter and straighter I wondered exactly when this surgery would happen.

It was finally scheduled for December 5, 1983. So in November that year I was going to see the oral surgeon all the time, and I had all kinds of impressions taken of my teeth and bite. (My favorite—NOT—was when they stuck this big, waxy plate (which was about the size of a dinner plate, I swear) in my mouth, and I had to bite down on it without shifting my jaw forward or backward at all. They had to do this one about three times before I got it right. (Gag me with a dinner plate!)

I went to the hospital on December 4. I was actually kind of excited, and not really super-nervous to go and have this major surgery. I did get really dizzy when the hospital staff drew my blood for all the preliminary testing they had to do; not dizzy from the blood-draw itself, but when I saw the six little vials of my blood.

That evening Dr. Lind and three other kids and their parents, and my parents, came into my room to discuss the whole procedure. He was doing similar operations on those three kids on the same day as my surgery. (I was going to be third in line.) Basically, the surgery would be like this: they would saw through my lower jaw, move it forward to the right place and put screws in to hold it there. My mouth would be wired shut for six to eight weeks—so I couldn't do any damage to myself while I healed—giving my body time for new bone to grow and fill in the empty space in my jaw. [I think of this now, and I can't believe how calm I felt about the whole thing. It's really grisly, isn't it?]


I spent the night in the hospital, and the next day they came in and prepped me for surgery. I'd had general anaesthesia before, and every time this is what happens: They give me the I.V. with the drugs in it, and then they get busy doing other things. I lie there and watch them, and I'm thinking, "I don't feel sleepy at all. Hmm." I keep watching them, and pretty soon I realize they are coming toward me with scary-looking instruments. "Oh no! They think I'm asleep and I'm not!" Then someone asks me a very difficult question, like my name, and I am completely gone. Amazing how that works.

The next thing I knew, I was lying in bed and a light, cool spray—as if from a humidifier—was misting the lower part of my face. I don't know if I tried to talk—No! I think I tried to pull that thing off of my face. But someone came right on over and let me know that the surgery was done and I was doing fine. Actually, I was really groggy and out of it.

The next day I was given a lunch menu. I had choices of grape juice, apple juice, orange juice, tomato juice, V8, chicken broth, beef broth, milk, chocolate milk, and jello (not set-up). They encouraged me to choose as many as I wanted. I stayed in the hospital for one week; during that time my family came to visit me pretty often. One time my brothers, Wendell and Mark, were visiting. They made me laugh which caused a little twinge, so they called the nurse, who gave me some pain-killer, which quicky put me to sleep. As I drifted off, I thought what a bummer it was that all my company would be leaving now. It got pretty boring in the hospital; I'm not one to enjoy lying around doing nothing. Once in a while, maybe; but not all the time. :-)

Well after one week in the hospital, I got to go home. Between the day that I checked in and the time that I checked out, I lost ten pounds. They sent me home with a pair of wire-cutters that I was to carry around with me at all times, in case I threw up and found myself choking on it—in an emergency like that I could cut the wires so my mouth could open. But, they said, that wasn't very likely; probably if I had to throw up it would come out my nose. Great.

My only other instructions were how to keep my mouth clean (no toothbrushes); and to keep "eating," but not to use a straw—the suction would be strong enough to mess things up in my mouth—and not to eat very hot foods. Well, eating was kind of difficult. It wasn't just the wires holding my mouth closed, but there was also a U-shaped plastic plate between my top and bottom teeth. The plate had impressions of the surfaces of my teeth in it, so it would fit perfectly and not slip (remember the impressions made with the wax dinner-plate?). The only empty space was in the very back of my mouth—where there's no teeth.

My first Saturday home I was so hungry that it was painful; I was sick to the point of headache and severe nausea. My dad asked me what was wrong, and I started crying when I told him I was hungry. (Somehow my family and friends seemed to understand me very well when I spoke, in spite of all the mouth-gear.) Dad was willing to get me anything I wanted to eat; and if it had to be liquid, I wanted Skipper's clam chowder. So he drove me all the way to Skipper's, bought some clam chowder and took me home. I went to lie down while he fixed it for me, and I fell right asleep. When I woke up he brought me the soup, which he had very sweetly put through the blender for me. That was the most awful-looking thing I'd ever seen! You wouldn't think that putting soup in a blender would make it look so bad, but it turned this really awful, inedible-looking gray color. (Canned chicken-noodle-soup looks even worse!) After all the trouble Dad went to, I did eat the blender-chowder, and it still tasted very good; but I couldn't bring myself to blend up my food any more. I existed for the next two months on Lipton Cup-a-Soup, sometimes thickened slightly with instant mashed potatoes (mmmm. Think about how yummy that is!); I drank a lot of milk—including strawberry-flavored milk, fruit juices and tomato juice or V8 juice. Eventually I got to a point where I could slurp up yogurt and milkshakes too. To this day I do not like Lipton's chicken-flavored soups, and strawberry milk is intolerable—not even strawberry ice cream for me! (Although I still love V8. Go figure!)

I don't remember having a lot of pain, except for the one incident in the hospital. But I must have, occasionally, because I remember telling Wendell how awful the pain-killer tasted. He said it wasn't yukky; it tasted like bananas. And to prove it, he stuck his finger in and tasted it. I just thought he was weird. To me that medicine tasted truly awful, and was to be avoided unless I was half dead with pain. (Strangely, one year later when I had my wisdom teeth out, I was allowed to use the same pain-killer if I needed it, and . . . it tasted like bananas).

Since I'd missed the first week of school in December and Christmas break was coming up, my mom let me skip school the entire month of December. So I spent a lot of time with Wendell and Mark, who were just out of the Navy. They took me to my check-ups, and took me shopping a lot. One time when we were out, I saw my reflection in a store window. Now I had seen my reflection in the mirror plenty of times and it was obvious that my face was very swollen, but because of the lighting at the store I saw for the first time how bruised up my face was—all yellow and green and purple! I was shocked, and I told my brothers, "I look terrible!" They said just to tell people, "You should see the other guy." That was the first time I'd ever heard that phrase, and I thought it was very funny.

It snowed A LOT that winter. Lots of times when I was out with my brothers there would be big, fat snowflakes flying down. When I was feeling better I wanted to drive the car sometimes. But my mom didn't want me to drive; she said, "If the car slides and you get stuck, you won't be able to scream." You can't argue with that kind of reasoning (especially with your mouth wired shut), but I did get to drive sometimes after all. Fortunately, I never needed to scream. Whew!

The whole time my mouth was wired shut—from December 5, 1983 to January 31, 1984—I craved apples and pizza. I didn't miss the Christmas food too much; I still got egg-nog, which I like, and after the Christmas dinner Wendell made a truly excellent turkey soup (which I didn't blend up, but had some of the broth). But I was always saying that I wanted an apple or some pizza. The day I got my wires cut my parents were going to take me to lunch any place I wanted to go. I was so excited—we would definitely go out for pizza!

Was I in for a surprise! First of all, remember the handy wire-cutters I was supposed to carry around? Well, the nurse had a really hard time removing the wires from my mouth. She really had to pull and struggle with them. I'm sure I could have done nothing to save myself in an emergency. (Although the wire-cutters came in really handy for craft projects later.) But the real surprise came when she finally did get the wires loose. My jaw just dropped open—just like you see in cartoons. Thunk! Owwwwie!! I had never considered that those facial muscles would be so weak. It was a real effort to close my mouth again. Dang! So much for pizza—and certainly no apples for a while. But my parents took me out to a Mexican restaurant, and it was soooooo yummy! In fact, Mexican food is still one of my very favorites.

It literally took years before I no longer felt the exercise of chewing food—the muscles in my temples would hurt from it every time I had a meal. (If you don't believe me, you can ask Bruce—and I didn't start going out with him until more than a year after my surgery.) Suddenly I discovered that apples had thick, tough skins, salads were really a lot of work to eat, and bread was really, really chewy—never mind meat. (Hmmm. Is all of this why I am such a foodie now?)

About a month after I had my wires cut, I was in Dr. Lind's waiting-room, waiting for a check-up. There was this girl there talking to her mother, but I couldn't understand a word she said. I felt really sorry for her—what could be wrong with her? And then I realized that her mouth was wired shut. My goodness! Is that what I sounded like? (Is that my voice? Is that my voice?) I asked my brothers about it later and they said, yes, I sounded just like that. I was amazed that they ever understood anything I said to them.

Well the whole thing was kind of amazing. Was it worth it? I think so. Would I do it now? Heck, no! I don't think I'd be that brave! But maybe I would. I do think it was worth it; I rather like my smile.

And Bruce likes it too!