Forget Flying Cars, It’s 2018 — Where Are Our Sinus Doors?!

When you think of inventions we should really have by now, what do you think of? Flying cars? Robots? Robot cars? Widespread Dymaxion houses? Sure, all that would be cool, but for those of us who suffer from chronic sinus problems, they all pale in comparison to one idea: Sinus Doors. Blowing the nose is inefficient, and frequent surgery is expensive and risky. If we could just empty our sinuses in one go, wouldn’t life be easier?

What even are sinuses anyway?

Sinuses do have a purpose, other than filling up with crud and making you feel miserable. Sinuses are empty cavities in the skull — as so helpfully illustrated by David Bowie up there — and in addition to being a place for mucus to drain, act as shock absorbers. If you get hit really hard in the face, like in a car accident, say, the sinuses help distribute the impact and protect the brain and the rest of the skull. So even though they’re a pain when you’re sick, they’re useful to have around. Besides, given how lousy it feels when they’re full, you wouldn’t wanna pack concrete in there or anything and wall ’em up.

But since there’s not exactly a huge hole connecting your sinuses to the outside world — mainly, just a tiny passage via the nostril — when you’ve got to set stuff out of there, it’s slow going.

Enter: Sinus doors.

Sinus Doors?

This is something I’ve always wanted. If you could just open up your sinuses, you could just plop out the mucus and whatnot that builds up in there. And if you’ve ever had a bad sinus cold, you can feel ’em right near the surface. So what gives?

In my ideal world, we’d have sinus doors: a one-time surgery to cut away the part of the skull covering the sinus, and then replacing it with a hinge. I basically see it as a magnet-door system, sort of like the way glass TV cabinets are usually done. Just press in and a small spring detatches from the magnet and the sinus doors swing open.

Of course, I figure you’d need to line the sinus doors with some sort of thin rubber gasket so they wouldn’t leak. And I figure you’d need to cover it with some sort of skin-like rubber, so the skin doesn’t grow over and seal them shut again. But when I get like this — I’d love nothing more than to just lean over the toilet, open up my sinus doors and jiggle the gelatinous mucus into the water and flush my pain away. (In my head, they look like little pats of butter.) Close ’em back up, smooth over the rubber covers and be ready for a night on the town.

Seriously, I’m sick of constantly blowing my nose and making my columella all raw. There has to be a better way!

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