My nose was broken. My septum was broken. I could move my cheekbone around my face.
The doc cut my inner cheek to reassemble everything w/ 13 screws. He sliced under my nose and peeled it back to fix it. Then shoved sticks up my nose to keep it straight while it healed.
Mask: NBD
Damage happened in the first round. Sitting on my stool in between rounds Stitch was swabbing my nose with adrenaline and he was covering my mouth while doing so. I pushed his hand away.
“Brother, you have to let me work. Your nose is broken.”
And I thought, you have no idea.
My nose is broken, my septum, my face.
And this little voice deep inside said quietly,
“You should quit...”
It continued, “Once people see the damage no one will blame you. You’re broken up inside.”
And then this big booming voice spoke.
“If you quit on your stool you will be a COWARD until the day you die. YES, you’re broken. But they can fix you. In a year you won’t even be able to tell your face was broken. But if you QUIT... ON YOUR STOOL, potentially end your career not answering the bell...
“Then not just your face will be broken. He will have broken your heart. And there’s no recovery from that. Now you’re going to get up and either you’re going to knock him out or he’s going to knock YOU out. You’re a fighter. FIGHT.”
And so I did.
And was mercifully TKOed rather quickly.
One toe was pointing the wrong way. I put it back in place. It popped out again. I put it back and it stayed that time.
The ring doc told me my nose was out of place.
“Put it back in place.”
Look of shock, “I can’t do that!”
“Then what good are you?” as I looked him in the eye and wrenched my nose closer to where it should’ve been.
A different ringside doc checked me out in the back. I told him about my toe.
“You should get that checked out when you get home.”
I pushed on my cheek. It made a grinding sound and moved freely under the skin. I told the doc about that.
“You should get that checked out too,” as he ran back to his ringside seat.
My nose bled for hours. Just a small drip as blood filled up my septum and slowly leaked out.
Flew coach the next day, thanks UFC, for the cross country flight.
Went to a doc ASAP.
The first doc I saw told me, “Yeah. You’re messed up. I can’t help you. It’s beyond my abilities.”
Not what you want to hear from a specialist.
Second doc works with baseball players that take a fastball to the face.
“You’re a mess but I can fix you. And I’ll throw in the nose for free.”
Deal.
The first thing he said when I woke up, “Man, your nose. I bent three chisels trying to straighten it.”
He shoved the sticks up my nose, keeps everything straight while it heals, a couple of photos with the staff later 😳 and I’m on my way.
I’ve had 10 major surgeries. Nose/face are the worst. You hurt, you can’t breathe, can’t chew, and claustrophobic from the packing and sticks.
A week. I had my nose packed with packing and sticks 24 hours a day for a week.
Lots of Peanut Butter Mood shakes. Lots of sleeping upright otherwise the face swells up insanely.
But here we are. 10 years later. Face is more symmetrical than it had been in years.
I still have nerve damage but don’t notice it much.
And my heart? Unbroken.
I started fighting to discover what kind of man I am.
Will I quit when things get tough or will I fight to the very end?
Now I know.
You can break my body but not my heart. I will fight until the end.
And that’s why wearing a mask isn’t a big deal to me.
I’ve been through tougher times. I don’t even care if studies come out that say a mask does nothing. Cool. It wasn’t much of a hassle anyways.
But if it does make a difference, it’s literally the least I can do.
You can follow @NateRockQuarry.
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