I pop more pills because my body ceased to be a temple with the surgeon’s first incision. All the staff express concern for my well being and tell tales of other patients suffering drastic weight loss. I try and pay attention to the dentist’s instructions, but I have childrens’ timetables to attend to in my mind. I hear the world ‘unstable’ drift onto my radar screen. Unstable? How does he know that? I tune back in. Oh good, it’s only my jaw that is unstable but the sack full of elastic bands should hold everything in place. I have thoughts of it falling off, that I might lose it in my hurry to be off. He scribbles notes on my chart and I’m off before the ink has dried.I drive home deep in thought of weight maintenance, debating whether it would be possible to drink a bottle of olive oil like the chappy in the "New Scientist article?"http://www.newscientist.com/channel/health/mg19325881.
400-supersize-me-revisited--under-lab-conditions.html
Such an extreme form of weight maintenance seems well out of my league.
At home, all is well. I speak to my children, loudly, kneeling. They all look at me.
“It’s off! Cool!” She gives me a hug and kisses my forehead. The boys step closer, cautious.
“Let me see?” he asks, screwing up his face in anticipation, squeamish but braced for bravery. “Oh yes, it gone!”
Junior shuffles forward, covers his own mouth for protection and commands “open it up!” I oblige. “Why you have dah string dere now?”
“It’s not string, it’s elastic dear.” He ponders, a finger to his mouth in the classic ‘thinking’ pose. “Dat’s good. Den it won fall off.”
'Great' minds think alike.
