Now onto minutiae.
This afternoon, I found out some other things you can't do without a mobile jaw or a clear and present tongue: licking a stamp or an envelope (not that I would, but it's the principle of the thing) and YAWNING. Yawning with your teeth gritted is probably similar to the feeling you would get if your hands and legs were bound, and some malcontent was shouting orders at you to look as if you were having a good time. Not the ideal situation, in other words.
But this morning, I had my first post-op visit to the surgeon's office!
The best was that while my Dad and I were waiting for him to see me in the exam room, "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye was playing over the office intercom system. That was probably one of the most surrealist moments I've ever had.
I should admit freely here that I have somewhat of a hero's crush on my surgeon. Nothing smarmy or cheap, but just that wide-eyed worship that comes with someone saving your face (not to be confused with saving face). Plus, he kept saying everything looked really good today.
Anyone who can look you in your froggy face and bruisy chin and tell you everything is looking great deserves some kind of recognition. Plus he told me I am doing a "pretty good job" in terms of keeping my mouth clean. Monswoon season (of joy) in my chin.
After that, my dad took me for my first public appearance to Costco (the bulk goods store formerly known as Price Club).
I felt quite exposed so I covered my chin using a multi-colored scarf (bad because it draws the eye) and tried to follow my Dad around by keeping my eyes on the ground at all times. I must have looked quite the submissive female figure.
Thus did these clothing items delight my eyes!
Hidden tummy panels! When you want to leave a little something to the imagination!
For a cultured but repressed person such as...moi.
Lastly, a quick word on meds. My pain medications were making me nauseous, which was making it difficult to keep liquids down. But pain also makes it hard to consume liquids. Ourobu-ruh roh: a veritable snake digesting its I-told-ya-so tail. The worst is the flavor of one of my pain meds is white caramel-orange-strawberry. Not only does that sound totally gross and the opposite of delicious, but that is not even a thing. What the heck is white caramel and who invited the fruits along?!?
[I have a week left to rage out about my mouth confinement, so just trying to make it count.]
I have now switched to the always crowdpleasing Children's Motrin in conventionally dreamy berry flavor.
P.s.S.t. I'm not even going to touch what a liquid fiberless diet does for your ability to stay regular. It's quite possibly the grimmest tale of all. GI Jane (digestive tract nickname) is hanging tough.