April 28, 2004

Day 2

Last night my scientist called the apartment. Homie answered.
"Is Gabrielle there?" my scientist wanted to know.
"She is but she can't talk right now," Homie informed him, knowing full well who it was since we have call display.
"Why not?" asked my scientist in a completely surprised tone of voice.
"Um... she had surgery today. On her mouth." Homie was pretty sure this man should know these facts seeing as how he was present at the time of the hacking and slashing.
"Oh well she should be able to. Let me talk to her."
"She doesn't want to talk."
"Put her on."
"I don't think so."

My scientist is nothing if not persistent. And apparently delusional. If this man thinks one can bounce out of his office and immediately give an in-depth lecture series at a university with half one's mouth in stitches and subsisting solely on Boost and Jello, then he's cracked. "Why not?" You were there, weren't you? With the cutting? And the blood? Stupid scientist.

Day two began with a lot of pain. The propaganda provided by my scientist's office declared that the donor site would be the "most sensitive" but that I'd likely feel "little or no pain" in the transplant site. All I can really feel in the donor site is the mass of criss-crossed stitches and swelling. No pain. But the transplant site hurts like a sonofabitch. Throbbing, jabbing pain when I smile or laugh. I am tempted to ask my scientist if he's ever actually done this before or if he's got some dental Flight Simulator equivalent that he's taking these observations from. I am reminded of Worf in the Disaster episode of Star Trek: the Next Generation, assisting Keiko in birthing her baby in Ten-Foward.
Worf: This is not like the simulation. THAT birth was very orderly.
Keiko: Well I'm SORRY!

Eating is a chore best left undone. It's just too much work to get food the right temperature (lukewarm), the right consistency (not too hard or syrupy), and the right size (small bites). And then factor in the drooling and the pain. It's just not worth it. Liquid diets, I hear, are all the rage. At this rate I'll be able to give Lara Flynn Boyle a run for her money in the stick-figure department. Of course if this lasts much longer I'll EAT Lara Flynn Boyle out of desperation.

I have been fielding many questions about my dental adventure but the two most common have to do with how long I'll be healing (and by "healing" I mean "suffering greatly") and what became of the pictures taken by my scientist. Let me attempt to answer these questions using complicated scientific and medical cross-referencing. Or, failing that, the Magic 8 Ball.

"Will the pain go away in an hour?" ~ Concentrate and ask again
"Is my scientist a quack?" ~ Yes definitely
"Will I be off work until the weekend?" ~ As I see it yes

As far as the pictures are concerned, I can only assume they'll end up drifting the waves of the ethernet along with several dozen Mardi Gras pictures of me and questionable random fanfic episodes. He probably runs some illegal "tooth fetishist" site and will doubtless profit greatly from displaying my poor gums alongside photos of women in scanty Tooth Fairy costumes who are "horny and waiting for your call". Maybe I'll get a manila envelope in the mail with the photos enclosed and a magazine-letter note saying "I know what you did last April". I suppose it's also possible that they'll end up in one of his brochures as part of an informational training seminar. It's hard to say. If you ever spot any of the pictures during a late-night web surfing expedition, let me know.

All in all, day two is unwinding slowly in a haze of boredom, starvation, and ibuprofen-induced stupor. I don't even have the energy to beat up BobbleHead Lance. Dark days... dark days indeed.

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