Bonus post: Help me unclench my jaw!

I really hoped I wouldn’t have to write a post like this again, but here we are.

If you’ve been following my ongoing saga here on Substack, I don’t have to tell you that the last year or so has been rough. Not in the fun, “this is great material for a book” way, but in the dear-god-why-can’t-i-unclench-my-face way.

Many of you know that my friend Karen and her family have been dealing with major, ongoing medical crises. I’ve been helping as much as I can, and while I don’t regret a moment of that, it has meant a tremendous amount of stress, emotional and financial. As a result, I kept putting off dealing with my own mounting health problems.

The Tooth That Started the Spiral

About a year ago, I cracked a molar clean down to the root. That tooth had to be extracted—something I handled with my usual grace, which is to say: complaining loudly while drooling blood.

Around the same time, I started experiencing bizarre muscle tightness in my face and jaw. It never stopped. No matter what I tried—massage, acupuncture, prescription steroids, muscle relaxants, magnesium, heat, ice, chiropractic, you name it—the tension refused to go away.

I couldn’t tell if the tooth problem had caused the tension, or if the tension caused the tooth problem, or if they were caused by dueling malevolent deities.

People suggested bruxism: chronic clenching or grinding, often caused by stress. That made sense, given the circumstances.

Eventually, after saving up enough, I decided to see a dentist while I was in Ecuador. Dental care there costs about half of what it does in the U.S.

The dentist took one look and said:
Yes, it’s bruxism.
Yes, you need a custom bite guard.
And by the way, you cracked another molar.

That one needed to be extracted too. Then both molars would need implants—a long, multi-stage process.

The second extraction was particularly enjoyable: I spent four hours in the chair while two dentists tag-teamed to get all the pieces of my tooth out. They said it had the largest root they’d ever seen, so I’ve got that going for me. At one point I came very close to passing out.

So: two extractions, a bite guard, and a chunk of my sanity later, I was $3,000 poorer.

Better… but Not Better Enough

After all that, I’m marginally better. The bite guard helps. Working on stress helps. But the tension never fully goes away. Some days it’s so distracting it’s hard to work—and working is how I make money.

If things don’t improve over the next few weeks, the next step will likely be Botox injections to relax the muscles. Fortunately, Botox is also much cheaper in Ecuador. Unfortunately, “cheaper” still isn’t the same as “I can afford this without selling a kidney.”

And that brings me to why I’m writing this.

I Hate Asking for Money—Especially for Myself

Over the years, I’ve run several fundraisers, but always for someone else. Every cent I raised—and usually quite a bit more—went directly to the person in need.

This is the first time I’ve had to run one for me. I really hoped it would never come to this.

My financial situation is improving, but these next two or three months are going to be tight, and the medical expenses have hit at exactly the wrong time. So I’m swallowing my pride and asking for help getting through this rough patch.

UPDATE: For some unknown reason, GoFundMe deleted the campaign and apparently nuked my account. Please use this GiveSendGo campaign instead:

https://www.givesendgo.com/unclench

To Show My Gratitude

I don’t like taking something without giving something back, so I’m offering a few small tokens of appreciation:

• Donate $50 or more:
  I’ll gift you the Kindle version of any of my books (your choice).

• Donate $100 or more:
  You’ll also receive a 6-month paid subscription to this Substack, where I continue chronicling the long, improbable chain of disasters that have unfolded over the last 13 years.

• Donate $500 or more:
  You can also name a character in my current novel, Adverse Possession.
  (Yes, really. Choose wisely.)

Whatever you can give, thank you—from the bottom of my over-stressed jaw. God willing, this will be the last time I have to do one of these.

And if you’re not in a position to donate, sharing the campaign helps immensely.

Thank you, sincerely.

—Rob