So this is what Ted Bundy's last moments felt like. The picture above shows me sending an electric charge through my own face. Don't worry, it's all in a good cause. Welcome to yet another part of the wonderful world of post-op brain tumours.
Regular readers will know that the removal of my lump caused the nerve which moves the right side of my face to (hopefully temporarily) stop working. This means that the muscles don't get any exercise, and start to flop a bit. To try and tauten them up, my physio advised me to give them a bit of a regular workout by jiggling them about with my thumb and forefinger. It hasn't stopped a slight droop creeping in, so now I'm taking more extreme measures: say hello to Old Sparky.
That's my name for the little brown box I'm holding above, supplied by the wonderful people at the British Acoustic Neuroma Association. It's about the size and shape of an mp3 player, this resemblance being enhanced by four headphone-like electrodes protruding from it onto face. Its full name is a Trophic Stimulator, which to my diseased mind sounds like a euphemism for some kind of "marital aid". This isn't helped by the fact that it comes equipped with a large tube of gel which is used to lubricate the surface of the skin (apparently aiding conduction). I stick down the cable endings with loads of surgical tape, crank up the dial, and wait for a surge of electrons to jump out at me.
The purpose of all this, of course, is to get the muscles moving again. The charge comes through in pulses, feeling slightly prickly but not painful. I was one of those weird kids who used to seek out electric fences to grab, so I suppose I'm a prime candidate for this treatment. According to my physio, I'll need to have it on for between one to three hours every night for it to make any kind of a difference, so it's just as well I don't find it too uncomfortable. For now I'm starting with 10 minutes today, 20 minutes tomorrow, half an hour on Friday etc until we work out how long I need. It's reasonable to assume all this time will be spent in the house, as I don't fancy wandering around the town looking like something with which Dr Who has fights.
Medical opinion differs as to whether all this will get my face moving again any quicker. Some doctors believe that by keeping the muscles healthy, it gives the nerve more scope to animate them. Others (like my ENT surgeon) are more sceptical. The impact it certainly should have is cosmetic, fending off sagging, and I long ago acknowledged I'm vain enough to want to give it ago. Indeed, these kind of potential benefits mean I'm not alone in being attracted to such devices. Go through the back pages of the Mail on Sunday Magazine and you'll find dozens of adverts for different trophic stimulators, marketed as anti-wrinkle gadgets. Tim Campbell, winner of the first series of The Apprentice, was tasked by Sir Alan Sugar to take charge of his Integra range, which basically do the same thing at a cost of £129. Mine only cost £50, mind, so I think I got a bit of a bargain.
I will keep you updated as to how all this gets on, and whether I start to look any different. In the meantime, I'd better start getting to know Old Sparky...
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